


To Be Set Free

by Merrinpippy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cinderella AU, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, fairytale AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 05:51:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 35,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8132777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merrinpippy/pseuds/Merrinpippy
Summary: Harry Potter, raised and abused by the Dursleys ever since his parents died, lives in the cupboard under the stairs. He has no friends or family who love him and his life is dull until one day a letter arrives arrives for him, written in green ink, that promises freedom. Sounds familiar, right? King Thomas Riddle's illness combined with his political paranoia pushes him to arrange three royal balls, after which his son, Prince Tom Riddle, must choose a guest to marry, thereby securing the kingdom's future and solidifying their strength in the eyes of their allies/enemies. Tom is convinced that he will be able to defy his father and choose no-one, or at least he is until at the first ball he meets an attractive stranger with dark hair and glasses who won't tell anyone his name...





	1. i'm just a poor boy, nobody loves me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry receives a letter. Tom receives some bad news.

The day started, as days usually do, with breakfast. If Harry Potter’s parents hadn’t died in a carriage crash when he was a baby, he might have been eating said breakfast, but Lily and James Potter _had_ died, and so Harry was making breakfast for the Dursleys instead. As he always did, he _accidentally_ made a little bit too much so that he could eat the leftovers later, seeing as the Dursleys hadn’t let him eat with them since he was very young. The Dursleys knew about this, but didn’t stop him as long as he finished every other chore they gave him first.

After the drama of his parents’ deaths had died down, and superstitions of dark wizards (a fairytale created to help Harry cope with the deaths of his loved ones, the villagers said) all but disappeared, Harry himself passed into anonymity except when someone commented on how generous Vernon and Petunia Dursley were, raising Harry alongside their own child. And if Harry wasn’t seen outside the house quite as often as Dudley, good on the Dursleys for letting him mourn and keep to himself. And if Harry, when he was seen, had dirt on his face and clothes and a resigned look about him, how brave he was for just getting on with it and busying himself instead of moping.

What the villagers didn’t comment on, because they simply didn’t know, was that from the time Harry was able to walk and talk he was made to do all the chores he could, until he became like a servant to the family. Dudley himself barely remembered that they were cousins, and although Harry did, he wouldn’t dare tell him. Years later, the Harry they had spoken of was long forgotten, replaced in their memory as the young man who had served the Dursleys for years.

Living with the Dursleys took its toll on Harry. For one, he had mastered the ability to blend into the shadows for his own safety, and he drastically fluctuated between strong for having done so much physical labour and weak from near-starvation (being threatened with no meals for anything they perceived he had done wrong didn’t help that). He lived in the cupboard under the stairs, despite the family living in a mansion, and it was a testament to his silent will that he didn’t buckle under the strain of the house and its responsibilities.

“Comb your hair,” Uncle Vernon greeted him as Harry brought them breakfast that morning. Harry made no attempt to do so; his hair was always messy and that was unchangeable.

“Tidy your clothes, they look awful! What have you been doing to them?” Aunt Petunia said, conveniently ignoring the fact that all of Harry’s clothes had been supplied by the Dursleys (see: given to him when they got too small for Dudley and wouldn’t make money if sold).

“Get that soot off your face,” added Dudley, smirking. Well, it wasn’t Harry’s fault that the cupboard was the one place Harry wasn’t permitted to clean.

He was used to this, though. Every morning was a different set of complaints. He soon became part of the scenery, refilling glasses and serving more food when necessary to avoid rebuke.

When breakfast was done, it was time for chores.

“The stairs and the foyer must be spotless this time, boy, I’m warning you- I could tell Dolores noticed last time, and if you cost us friends in high places there’ll be hell to pay,” Aunt Petunia told him after he’d cleared the plates and cleaned the table.

“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” came Harry’s monotonous reply.

“After you’re done you come report to me. If I deem it satisfactory, I have more for you to do. Do _not_ report to me until the floors are like mirrors, understand?”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia.”

Aunt Petunia sneered and left Harry in the large foyer with a bucket of soapy water and a mop. The foyer itself was a large square that the front door led into, with blue-tiled floored and rich wooden doors to the left and right of the room. Across from the front door, the large staircase rose with the same tiles as the floor, and underneath that staircase was Harry’s home.

He set to work immediately, trying to convince himself that if he finished his chores earlier than yesterday he might be rewarded. He supposed he should be grateful that the Dursleys kept no pets- he could imagine the extra messes he’d have to clean up and told himself how fantastic it was that his current workload wasn’t that bad.

His thoughts drifted, as they often did, to a potential life outside Privet Manor. He could leave any time he wanted if he ran away, to get a better job, to get a life. He spent the next half an hour cleaning the floors and living out a fantasy in his head. Today’s fantasy profession was a baker’s apprentice. In fact, he could almost smell the fresh, warm bread now...

“If you’re going to propose to that mop do it quickly, Potter. The floor isn’t going to clean itself!” Harry started violently at the sound of Dudley’s voice.

Dudley’s friends laughed and Harry clutched the mop tighter in his hand to keep his anger from showing on his face.

“At least if I proposed the mop would say yes. I can’t imagine anything on the planet, person or object, that would agree to marry you,” Harry said nonchalantly, turning away from the group and continuing his job.

It was a mistake, obviously. Seconds later Dudley’s fat hands pushed him forwards, and Harry tripped over the bucket and ended up sprawled painfully on the wet blue tiles. Dudley’s friends laughed again, and the sounds moved until Harry could no longer hear them as they left. Harry got up slowly, wincing at the feel of future bruises and damp clothes.

He picked up the mop again and set to work once more, only to realise with dismay that Dudley and his friends had tracked mud through the foyer on the tiles he’d already cleaned. Sighing heavily he continued, dreams of freedom aggressively forming in his head.

It was useless, he knew. He would never leave. The Dursleys weren’t nice to him, but they clothed and fed him and gave him somewhere to live. He wouldn’t have that if he ran away. He had minimal education and no work experience to speak of. He would have nothing without the Dursleys, so he stayed with them. It didn’t do anything to stop the fantasies, but he resigned himself to the fact that fantasies were all they were.

Harry had only just finished cleaning the stairs when the doorbell rang. Being careful not to make any marks on the floor, Harry tiptoed down to answer it.

“Dursley residence,” Harry said as he opened the door.

A messenger was on the other side holding four letters. He gave the letters to Harry promptly and turned to leave before he even spoke. “I’ve got a lot of those to deliver today,” he said apologetically. “Good day!”

Bemused, Harry closed the door when the messenger was out of sight. He looked at the letters in his hand; one for Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, Dudley, and… wait. That couldn’t be right. There was a letter for him! Shocked, he stared at the writing on the envelope, but there could be no mistake. His name was written in clear green ink, and they’d even listed within the address ‘cupboard under the stairs’. But who could be writing to him?

His curiosity itched to open the letter, but he refrained. Harry put the other three in his pocket for when he next saw the Dursleys. He kept his own in the other pocket as a treat to get him through the day.

His mind swimming with possibilities as to what the letter could be, Harry surveyed his work on the foyer and set off to find Aunt Petunia.

* * *

Tom started the day by arguing. While this was completely normal, the subject matter was decidedly… not.

“I am _not. Getting. Married._ ” Tom shouted through clenched teeth. He, his father, and a few of their advisors stood around a table in their private conference room. It wasn’t a small room at all, decorated green and silver just as Tom liked it with a long tabled that reached from one end to the other, but for the sake of convenience they gathered at one end of the table in order to be able to talk to each other. They’d left their seats and their breakfasts abandoned almost as soon as the subject was broached. Tom was the first to raise his voice, and as he’d hoped, everyone else shrank back slightly in fear- except, unfortunately, for his father.

King Thomas Riddle threw his hands up in aggravation. “You of all people understand the subtleties and nuances of power and politics, perhaps almost just as much as I do-”

He skillfully ignored Tom’s scoff.

“You know I’m unwell,” he continued. “Opponents know this too. Allies are only allies until you are of no use to them. Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, even Ilvermorny could strike at the slightest hint that we are struggling.”

If Tom were a less dignified man, he would have shrugged his shoulders. As it was, he merely raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “So? The healers can make you well again and we will destroy any who mean to do the same to us.”

Tom’s father swallowed nervously; Tom didn’t miss the gesture. His eyes narrowed.

“There is a… possibility… that I may not become well again,” his father said uncomfortably. “What we need is a promise that our future is secure. What we need is-”

“An arranged marriage?” Tom asked incredulously. He sneaked a look at the advisors closest to him. Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and Ollivander were keeping their faces unnaturally neutral. It irked him.

“No, of course not!” His father said. Tom was about to reply but his father got there quicker. “Not an _arranged_ marriage,” he amended quickly. “You can, of course, choose your bride or groom so long as they are of a high enough social standing to prove their ability to rule alongside you. And preferably, they would be a witch or wizard.”

Tom refrained from pointing out that Thomas himself wasn’t even a wizard, as this would be disadvantageous to his cause. However, the other point he could contest.

“Most aristocrats couldn’t rule if their life depended on it,” he sneered. “Cornelius Fudge, for example, or Dolores Umbridge- their social standing has no effect on the fact that if put into a position of power they would have no idea what to do with it!”

Dumbledore chose this moment to intervene. “We are not suggesting you marry Cornelius fudge or Dolores Umbridge. They are far too old, anyway,” he said with a slight smile.

Tom only shook his head. “I won’t marry some brat who’d stab me in the back as soon as fuck me.” The entire table flinched, and Tom reigned in his cold smile. However, it was his father’s turn to look triumphant.

“You can decide that in a fortnight, Tom,” he said.

Tom’s smile disappeared. The room temperature seemed to drop a few degrees. “What’s in a fortnight?” he said softly, but the malice in his voice was unmistakeable. Tom’s father soldiered on.

“A ball. Every eligible maiden and bachelor plus their closest relatives are invited. It will be a lot of people, yes, but I’m sure a few spells will ensure that the ballroom will remain comfortably spacious no matter the numbers.” A smug smile captured his father’s face, and in that moment Tom knew he wouldn’t be able to escape the ball. That didn’t mean, however, that he would marry the first girl or boy who threw themselves at his feet.

“You can force me to go to a stupid ball, but you can’t force me to marry someone I’ve only met once,” Tom said.

“Well of course,” his father agreed, too cheerfully for Tom’s liking. “That’s why the ball will last three days- or rather, there will be a ball in the evening on three consecutive days in a fortnight. The invitations have already been sent.”

 _The invitations have already been sent._ They knew he wouldn’t agree to this. Dumbledore gave him a sympathetic look but Tom ignored him. Snatching his plate and his goblet of butterbeer, Tom swept out of the room and didn’t look back, leaving everyone else in his wake.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to comment or find me on tumblr @arrowgays! Updates every Sunday.


	2. Funny Business™

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry goes shopping with the Dursleys.

One clean entrance, two trimmed gardens, three clean stories and another meal later, Harry had just finished making dinner. He’d managed to spill a few drops of scalding water on his arm but for the most part he’d done well. Certainly serving three meals a day to the Dursleys for almost as long as he could remember had done much to improve his cooking skills, but the Dursleys loved making him cook new, difficult dishes just to watch him trip up.

As he served his relatives, Aunt Petunia was practically vibrating with excitement.

“Harry’s cooking isn’t that amazing, Petunia. What is it?” Uncle Vernon said, reaching for his fork immediately after Harry had set his plate down. Harry retreated to the door, waiting for a snapped request but weirdly interested in what Aunt Petunia had to say.

“Oh Vernon, it’s fantastic! It’s the talk of the town! The prince is searching for a husband or wife, and there are going to be three balls in a fortnight for a prince to find a partner! Every eligible citizen and their family is invited- and that means Dudley!”

Harry hid a smile. Aunt Petunia was nothing if not ambitious at least, but the idea that Prince Tom would ever marry Dudley was frankly absurd. Pigs would fly sooner.

Uncle Vernon, however, perked up. “Hear that, Dudders?” He smiled to himself. “When are the invitations being sent, Petunia?”

Aunt Petunia frowned. “Well, Dolores and Rita have already got theirs, so we should have ours too. Oh, what if they’ve forgotten us?!”

Harry suddenly remembered the letters in his pocket, and brought them out hastily. He handed them all to Aunt Petunia, who gave him an annoyed look. “Well? Give Dudley and Vernon theirs too, boy.” Blinking, he complied and sighed quietly in relief when Aunt Petunia proceeded to ignore him.

They each opened their letter with a look of greed on their faces. This seemed to be the only thing that Dudley would abandon his dinner for. In the distraction, Harry pulled out his own letter, broke the seal, and opened it as discreetly as he could.

_Dear Harry Potter,_

_You are invited to three balls on the 13th, 14th, and 15th of November which are being held for Prince Tom Riddle. The Prince and the King will both be in attendance, along with all eligible young men, women, and their families. We hope that you will take this opportunity to present yourself before the Prince and enjoy the festivities. The balls will all start at sundown on each day._

_Yours faithfully,_

_The Riddle Family_

Harry stared at the letter. He, Harry, was invited to a royal ball. Would he even be allowed to go? What would he even wear if he was?

“Mum! Dad! Harry has one too!” Dudley shouted. Harry jumped, startled, and quickly found everyone’s eyes on him.

Harry felt there was no need to beat around the bush. “Can I go?” he asked.

“Absolutely not,” Uncle Vernon said, but Aunt Petunia actually seemed to consider it. “We can’t let him make a fool of us, Petunia! What will everyone else think if _he_ accompanies us?”

“I don’t have to accompany you,” Harry said quickly, not wanting to spend the evenings with them any more than they did with him. “I can come in after you and you can pretend you don’t know me if you like.”

With Aunt Petunia still weighing his words, Dudley felt now was an appropriate time to butt in. He stood up, letter clutched in his hands, and wailed. “D-d-don’t let him come! He’s going to stop me from marrying the prince, I know it!”

“I won’t, I swear. I don’t even want to marry the prince. And why would he even glance at me, anyway? I’m just a dirty servant.” Harry rushed through the words, laying it on a bit thick, maybe, but feeling a burst of hope at the idea of three nights of freedom. Maybe he could even try to get a job as a palace servant!

Slowly, Aunt Petunia raised her head to meet Harry’s wide eyes. Her expression was stern, but pinched in a way to suggest she was about to say something she didn’t want to, which _meant-_

“If you work extremely hard until then… finish all of your chores… I don’t see any reason for you not to attend.”

Harry felt like a firework had just gone off in his chest. He only barely managed to stutter, “Thank you, Aunt Petunia,” and for once he truly meant it. Dudley, however, looked like he’d just swallowed a lemon.

Ignoring her son, Aunt Petunia returned to her food, considering the case closed. Harry sagged against the wall, feeling happier than he had in years. He was going to be able to leave… even if only for three glorious nights, he would know how it felt to be normal.

Could he get Aunt Petunia to buy him an outfit for the ball? It didn’t have to be too fancy- anything was better than the clothes he wore daily. He’d have to get to the palace, too, unless the Dursleys actually let him ride the a carriage with them. Perhaps he could get a lift there with some of the local boys, though that might be difficult seeing as he didn’t actually know any of them.

Uncle Vernon’s irritated voice cut through his thoughts, demanding more brandy, and after that Harry paid more attention to the table. The conversation had turned to the practicalities of the balls, just as Harry’s own mind had.

“We’ll have to get there fast,” Aunt Petunia was saying. “I imagine she’ll be swamped with requests, better to get in earlier than at the last minute.”

Uncle Vernon nodded. “We’ll go in the morning,” he decided. “The boy will come with us. It’s not far enough to use a carriage, so he can help carry things back.”

“Where are we going?” Harry asked.

“Madam Malkin’s, of course!” Aunt Petunia glanced at him condescendingly before apparently thinking out loud. “We’ll need ten outfits in total, three for each of us and one for the boy… it’ll be expensive but we should be able to afford it relatively easily. We’re all going to get up bright and early tomorrow so let’s all get some sleep- but Harry, of course, you’ll have to clear the table and the kitchen first, then the fireplaces. Come on Dudley, up to bed, there’s a good boy.”

They left him standing in the dining room, his letter stuffed into his pocket. With renewed optimism, he cleared the table and prepared himself for the next day.

* * *

As promised, Aunt Petunia woke them all up far earlier than necessary, Harry thought. He was startled awake by angry raps on his cupboard door. Harry rushed to dress, but he wasn’t fast enough to escape Dudley bounding down the stairs, practically diving in front of Harry’s door just to push Harry down.

Disgruntled, he stumbled into the foyer to find Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon donning their nicest coats and waiting for Harry and Dudley.

“Get a move on, boy!” Uncle Vernon growled at Harry, who hurried to put on his own oversized ratty coat. Dudley took longer trying to find a coat he wanted to wear, but unlike Harry he was treated with the utmost patience. Soon after they were off, Petunia promising them that Harry would make them breakfast when they got back.

When they arrived in town the sun was rising above the sleepy houses, but the streets were anything but sleeping. Everybody else seemed to have the same idea as them, so everybody and their mother was milling around town and lining up outside their chosen tailor.

Madam Malkin’s store was more colourful than all of the others, but still managed to give the impression of class. The queue for this store was far longer than the queue for any of the others, and Harry reckoned Madam Malkin would need to be magic to have any hope of completing everyone’s orders on time.

While Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia waited in the queue, Harry and Dudley were allowed to look around the shops and stalls on the condition that they returned before it was their turn with Madam Malkin. As soon as he could Harry slipped away from Dudley’s sight, and when he was safe in the knowledge that Dudley was nowhere near him, Harry allowed himself to wander down the street.

The sun was bright above them, but despite the illusion of heat the day was bitter and frosty. It had rained the night before, and the leftover puddles had frozen over. Every few minutes Harry saw someone slip, and he traversed the street carefully to avoid doing the same.

There were quite a few stalls with accessories capitalising on the upcoming balls, but although their trinkets were quite pretty they didn’t particularly interest Harry. One stall caught his eye though, halfway down the street- one large man seemed to be selling exotic pets.

Intrigued, Harry moved closer. The man was currently trying to convince a young couple about the advantages of owning a giant toad as a pet so Harry got close to the stall unseen.

A few glossy rats were playing in one of the cages while an owl slept in another, but what really got Harry’s attention was a large green snake coiled in a glass cage. It appeared to be observing him closely, and Harry found he felt sorry for the snake trapped in a cage.

“I know how that feels,” Harry said quietly. “Being trapped.”

To his astonishment, the snake actually nodded to him.

“Can you-” Harry looked around and lowered his voice. “Can you understand me?”

The snake nodded again. Harry stared. “Well,” he said uncertainly. “Even trapped as I am, there’s a bit of freedom in my future. I bet there’s freedom in yours too.”

The snake began to unwrap itself, its head moving closer to Harry, but Harry’s interest in the snake meant he failed to notice the figure coming up behind him until it was too late.

“Freak!” Dudley yelled, pushing him aside. Harry hissed in pain as he crashed to the freezing ground, and watched Dudley take his place by the snake. “I can do that too,” Dudley mocked him, and began to make an absurd impression of a snake.

Harry felt a surge of rage and stood up, brushing himself off, but when he looked up Dudley began to scream. The glass was gone.

The snake slithered past Dudley, hissing threateningly but otherwise ignoring him. Dudley’s screams alerted other shoppers who began to scream as well, thinking they were in danger from a poisonous creature. The snake ignored them too, but as it passed Harry he swore he saw it wink at him. Harry only stared.

Harry ran back to the Dursleys in a vain attempt to give himself an alibi, but in the chaos Dudley had reached them first.

“I didn’t do anything!” he protested, but Aunt Petunia particularly seemed to blame him for what had happened.

“After I allowed you the privilege of coming to the royal ball with us, this is how you repay me?!” She shrieked. “Have it your way, boy. You will not be coming.”

Harry froze. She couldn’t give him all that hope just to take it away! Fear coupled with anger coursed through him. Harry pushed through his anger and forced himself to speak. “Please, Aunt Petunia, I swear I didn’t do anything, it wasn’t my fault-”

Harry was cut off by the door opening, letting the previous customers out of the shop carrying a few accessories and an order sheet. It was their turn. Harry begged with his eyes to Aunt Petunia, but she dutifully ignored him.

“I’ll stay out here with him, Petunia,” Uncle Vernon said. “Make sure he doesn’t get up to any more _funny business._ ”

Harry continued to protest that he didn’t do anything- because he _didn’t_ \- but Uncle Vernon was having none of it. Aunt Petunia and Dudley entered the shop without them.

Harry’s day didn’t get any better than that after they got home. Dudley smirked at him whenever he saw him and the others ignored him except to give him more arduous tasks that Harry completed in a solemn daze.

For a few sweet hours he’d believed he would have an escape, no matter how fleeting. And now it was gone. However, as he sat in his cupboard late that night, he resolved that this would not be the last the Dursleys heard of it.

Harry had an invitation, and now he had two weeks to convince the Dursleys to let him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to say thank you all for reading, and also thanks for the lovely comments on the first chapter. I hope you enjoyed this one just as much. Feel free to leave a comment, and I'll see you all next Sunday!


	3. the princess and the toad (and the house-elf)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is persistent, but the Dursleys won't go down without a fight (and Harry didn't bring his boxing gloves).

Throughout the next week, he begged Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon every time he saw them. They grew increasingly annoyed at him and set him harder and harder tasks in consequence, but he persisted. At times he thought Uncle Vernon would hit him, and Aunt Petunia actually did once with a newly bought frying pan when he asked her one too many times that day. 

On the 6th of November, a week until the balls began, Harry burst into the drawing room after having completed his most recent task in the garden. His arm was bleeding in one place, and he could have sworn he’d seen a pair of eyes staring at him from the bushes, but neither of these issues were important to him as asking, “Can I please go to the ball Aunt Petunia?” for the millionth time.

Except this time Aunt Petunia wasn’t alone. 

Her friend, a toad-like woman Harry had never met before (but knew instantly by sight) was sitting across from Aunt Petunia on a chaise. Her pink outfit was incredibly jarring to the eyes, and Harry fought against a wince at the sight. 

“Well, Petunia,” Dolores Umbridge cooed unpleasantly. “This is the brat?”

Aunt Petunia was staring at Harry with a cold gaze. She nodded. 

“You want to go to the royal ball, do you, Potter?” Harry jerked at the use of his last name. Dolores’ smile widened. “Well?” 

“Yes,” he said quietly. 

Dolores turned to Aunt Petunia. “I think you should let him go.” Both Harry and Aunt Petunia blinked in surprise, but before Aunt Petunia could protest Dolores spoke again. “Not without a minor condition, of course. You should let him go to the ball, but on the condition that he cannot tell anyone his name while he is there.”

Harry frowned in confusion. That was… easy. And odd. What was the point of that? Not that he was complaining. He’d take that offer.

Dolores turned to him again, smiling sweetly. “You see, Potter, to tell anyone your name would be to tell them that you are equal to them, but in fact you are not. You are a servant- less than a servant. You are lesser than everyone who will be in attendance those nights. Therefore to tell them your name would be like lying, and you know that you  _ must not tell lies _ .”

Dolores’ words filled him with a weird, cold sense of dread for a reason Harry couldn’t place. 

“Are you agreeable, Petunia?” 

Aunt Petunia smiled softly for the first time. “I am.” 

“And you, Harry? Do you vow that, when you attend the three royal balls, you will not tell a single person there your name?” 

“I do,” Harry said, and as he said it it was as though a heavy weight settled upon his shoulders before disappearing like it had never been there. He frowned again, but Dolores was done with him. 

“Prepare dinner immediately,” Aunt Petunia said, dismissing him. 

That night he dreamed of meeting the prince, though he didn’t know what the prince looked like. The prince asked his name, and Harry told him, but as soon as he did he was in agonising pain and the words “I must not tell lies,” etched themselves into his hand. He woke up sweating with the phantom pain still in his veins. 

* * *

On the 11th of November, two days before the first royal ball, Aunt Petunia addressed both him and Dudley at lunch.

“I have some things for both of you,” she said happily. “I collected your outfits from Madam Malkin’s today, Dudley, and I’d like you to try them on. I bought something for you too, Harry, I need you to try that on as well.” 

“But, Aunt Petunia, there couldn’t have been enough time for her to make me an outfit as well as Dudley,” Harry said. 

Aunt Petunia laughed. “ _ Make  _ you an outfit? Goodness no. You weren’t there for the fitting so I bought you a pre-made outfit that looked about your size. Don’t worry, it’s quite unique- I made some  _ suggestions  _ for amendments. One should be enough to last three days, wouldn’t you say, Vernon?” 

Uncle Vernon grunted in affirmation, fixing Harry with a delightedly sly smile. 

Aunt Petunia gestured to two boxes across the room. Both were of good quality as they were both Madam Malkin’s, but it was obvious which one was Harry’s by the mere size of the box, which was far smaller. 

Warily, Harry took his box to his cupboard while Dudley bound excitedly upstairs with his own, struggling slightly under the weight. 

Harry changed clothes quickly, movements only slowing when he caught a glimpse of the outfit which Harry was sure Aunt Petunia ordered to be as ugly as possible. When he emerged, Dudley was waiting with his first outfit, and the boy practically cried laughing when he saw Harry.

Filled with anxiety, Harry followed Dudley (still sniggering) into the dining room. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, for their part, didn’t laugh, but merely ignored him and focused on Dudley instead. 

“Look at what a handsome boy you are!” Squealed Aunt Petunia. 

Uncle Vernon patted Dudley on the back in approval. “No girl could resist you, Dudders! The prince won’t know what hit him.”

Harry took the distraction as an excuse to find a mirror, which wasn’t difficult as there was a large one across from the kitchen door. Cautiously, he put himself in front of it. 

And gaped in horror. 

The outfit was various shades of grey meshed together on flaps of fabric that barely resembled a dress shirt and trousers. It looked as though he had draped himself in whale skin. It looked horrible.

When he turned to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, they were smirking at him. 

“Rather suits him, don’t you think?” Uncle Vernon said. 

Dudley laughed.

* * *

The day of the ball had arrived. Sundown approached and with it feelings of dread and excitement mixed in Harry. Dudley, on the other hand, was only excited, but this manifested itself as more comments than usual about Harry in order to make himself look good.

Harry tried to ignore it for the most part, working excessively hard like he’d told Aunt Petunia he would. In private, he tried all he could with his grey rags including stitching to add shape in some places and trying to find small accessories to add colour. Unfortunately it didn’t make much of a difference. Harry knew now that he would be the worst dressed person in that ballroom, and he couldn’t help the stabs of irritation and helplessness in his chest. He got on with his work bitterly.

Through the whole day, Harry kept expecting Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon to tell him to stop in order to get ready, but no such reprieve came. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner went past without a word to Harry, though the subject of their conversations was always Dudley’s opportunity to marry the prince. 

“You know, maybe Harry  _ should  _ stay with us,” said Dudley suddenly in the middle of dinner. His squinty eyes fixed on Harry, who tried to hide his own shock at the statement. 

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon reacted worse. Flustered, Uncle Vernon managed, “But  _ why? _ ” 

Dudley shrugged. “Well, the prince will have to notice how good looking I am if I’m standing next to that ugly freak,” he said, and promptly continued eating his dinner. Harry suddenly wished that he’d poisoned it. 

Dudley’s frequent comments about seducing the prince began to make Harry uncomfortable rather quickly. If everyone attending the ball was like this, then Harry felt sorry for him. How could he choose to marry one of them if all anyone wanted to do was manipulate him? Harry was suddenly thankful that he himself had no interest in marrying royalty, though he would like to believe that he wouldn’t be so nasty about it if he had. 

It was fast approaching sundown when Aunt Petunia finally told him, in that shrill voice of hers, to leave the cleaning of the bathroom until the morning. 

Harry changed quickly, the thought crossing his mind that maybe it would be better if he just went in the clothes that he’d been wearing before. His mind was made up for him when Uncle Vernon practically dragged him out of his cupboard. 

Dudley was dressed in a white shirt, a brown tailcoat and orange knickerbockers. He was looking somewhat more evil than usual, which only intensified when he laid eyes on Harry. 

“Planning to marry the prince in that?” Dudley said while Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were speaking quietly at the door. 

“No,” replied Harry shortly. He had to bite his lip to stop himself from saying anything more. 

“Apparently you look almost exactly like your dad did,” Dudley continued undeterred. “No wonder he was only able to attract an ugly wench like your mum.”

Harry saw red, and his hands clenched into tight fists. 

“Shut up.” It took all of Harry’s concentration not to shout the words, and he was somewhat proud of himself that he’d kept his response that tame.

“Careful how you speak to your superiors, Harry. If you speak like that to the prince he’ll send you the same way as your parents-”

“Then it’s a good thing I have you to distract him; the prince will just mistake you for a pig and order you to be cooked for tomorrow’s dinner,” Harry snarled. 

Dudley’s eyes flashed, and then next thing Harry knew he was being forced back. Dudley threw himself at him, grabbing him by the collar. Harry heard something rip, and his heart sank. 

A meaty fist smashed into his face; he yelled out in pain and clutched at his cheek. His glasses fell from his face and shattered on the floor. Dudley, seemingly appeased, let him go, pulling a torn piece of Harry’s clothes with him and dropping it on the floor.

The right half of his face throbbed, and Harry felt tears prick at his eyes. Though he couldn’t see Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia’s expressions, he knew that they were pleased. 

“What a shame…” Uncle Vernon said, sounding not at all like anything was a shame. “You can’t rightly come to a royal ball with ripped and torn clothes! And with your face all messed up like that. It would be insulting to the crown, never mind to us. I suppose you’ll just have to stay…”

A snort of laughter gave Uncle Vernon away, and then Dudley burst into vicious laughter too. The three left through the door, leaving Harry in the dark foyer. 

A lump in his throat forced its way up and he scrambled to the back of the house, to the garden, just to be able to breathe. His sobs came out heavily and painfully, tearing through him each time. The pain in his face was pounding and unignorable.  

The garden normally would be quite pleasant- Harry should know, he spent more than enough time making it that way- but right now it was cold and confining. He should have known he’d never leave this house, the Dursleys would never let him. Had this been the plan all along? If Harry hadn’t provoked an attack, would they have found another excuse? 

He sat heavily on a bench and let his tears fall, as if he was exorcising a poison. Later, feeling comfortably numb (apart from the pain still in his cheek), he turned to watch the sky. When the sun set, as it would in half an hour, the ball would start and Harry would be here.

Well, there was no point moping any longer, Harry conceded. He may as well finish cleaning the bathroom. He got up and crept back to the back door of the manor. 

Suddenly there was a loud crack.

“Many apologies for the interruption, Harry Potter, but we is not having a lot of time left,” came a squeaky voice from behind him.

Harry all but jumped out of his skin. He whirled around to face the stranger, and found a short, wrinkly-faced…  _ elf  _ type creature staring at him with bulbous eyes. 

When he found his voice, the question that came out of his mouth was, “How do you know my name?” 

“There is time for answering questions later,” said the creature. “Right now we is needing to get Harry Potter to the ball! But first, Harry Potter cannot go to the ball like that!” The creature wailed. “Dobby can help.”

Dobby snapped his fingers and the pain from his cheek vanished. Another snap had something weird happen to his hair. Dobby looked at him appraisingly, but Harry was too busy gaping to offer a comment. This creature was  _ magic.  _

“Dobby will try to fix your clothes, sir, but forgive Dobby if you dislikes it!” 

The next snap didn’t have immediate results. Instead a glimmer shot at him from Dobby’s fingers, encircling him. Then Harry’s clothes began to change right in front of his eyes. A shower of light blinded Harry for a second, but then when he looked down he didn’t recognise his own body below him. 

“I need… my glasses…” Harry said dumbly. Another snap fixed that too. 

The clothes themselves were the most comfortable Harry had ever worn and seemed to fit him perfectly. Although Harry couldn’t tell exactly what he was wearing from this angle, he could feel the silk of his white dress shirt. His black suit trousers were plain as far as he could tell, but there was something about the material that seemed strange and otherworldly. A red waistcoat fit snugly over his shirt, and to top it off was something that could only be described as a robe- a dress robe, perhaps, a red one that looked to Harry as though it was made of a glittering red liquid and felt divine. 

Somehow, though, the thing that impressed Harry the most was that with these clothes on, he no longer looked disgustingly skinny, but a normal, healthy weight.

Harry looked back up at Dobby. “How- what- are you my fairy god… father?” he stammered.

Dobby didn’t understand the joke, but answered him seriously. “Harry Potter’s godfather is locked away, I’m afraid, sir. But now for a carriage, and horses, there must be horses, and a driver and footman!” 

As Dobby said each object he snapped his fingers. A pumpkin Harry had grown himself at Petunia’s instructions grew to the size of a carriage and then  _ became  _ one, and a couple butterflies that had been fluttering lazily in the garden became a driver and footman respectively. Harry couldn’t do anything but stare in amazement as they took their places by the carriage.

“Follow the butterflies, Harry Potter, they will take you to the palace!” Dobby squeaked. 

“Why are you doing this?” Harry asked, obediently moving to sit inside the now red-coloured pumpkin carriage. 

“Harry Potter  _ must  _ go to the ball. Oh, and before Dobby forgets! Harry must be back before midnight.” Dobby’s expression grew sheepish. “A house-elf’s magic is different from a wizard’s, sir, and magic like this I can only make last for a few hours. Now off! Off! Or you is going to be late!” 

And before Harry could say anything in reply, the carriage was away. Harry decided to not even question how they’d gotten from the garden to the main road so quickly, but instead allowed excitement to take over again. 

_ He was going to the ball. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! After this is where the party starts, pun fully intended. Feel free to leave a comment, and once again I'll see you all next Sunday!


	4. a little party never killed nobody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry goes to the ball. Some people are friendlier than others.

The palace was magnificent already, and Harry hadn’t even gone inside.

It towered above everything else nearby, its great spires reaching for the deep sky far above any height Harry had ever seen before. Harry couldn’t decide what colour to call its walls, as it seemed to change between white, silver, blue, and green. A long road lined with trees led up to the gates and into the grounds of the palace. It was all so grand that Harry momentarily found himself overwhelmed, but his own carriage slowing down brought him back to his senses.

The sun had only just set a few moments ago and there were still other people’s carriages leaving the grounds when they arrived. Harry hurried up the many stairs to the palace doors which, despite being closed, were attended by two guards.

When they saw him, they both gaped. Harry felt himself flush but pushed past the embarrassment. “Um, I’m here for the ball?” he said.

“You’re late,” one of the guards said, after shaking his head and recovering himself.

Harry bit his lip, distantly noticing the guard tracking the movement. “Sundown _is_ a bit of a vague starting time,” Harry offered.

The guards exchanged glances. “Alright,” one said slowly. The other pulled out a long list of names that bunched up on the floor. “Tell us your name so we can be sure you’re on the list, and then we’ll let you in.”

Harry opened his mouth but nothing came out. He remembered his promise to Dolores, but surely this didn’t count, right? He tried to speak again, but he just could not say his name. A flash of fear went through him; Dolores had done something to him, she must have. How would he get in now?

A sudden movement in his pocket made him jerk, and Harry plunged his hand into the pocket only to bring out a piece of paper- the invitation. He held it up hesitantly. “What about this?”

The guard inspected the invitation and nodded after a moment. He must have thought Harry very odd for not just saying his name, but he opened the door for Harry anyway, and then he was inside.

The entrance was extravagant, filled with silvers, golds, and shades of green. A snake motif popped up around every corner, making Harry smile as he remembered the snake he’d spoken to, free now.

There were two uniformed guards at every door eyeing him as he passed them but Harry tried not to let his nervousness- or the ever so small amount of fear at their military appearances- show. He was able to find his way through a few of the rooms, the route being somewhat linear (or so he thought), but quickly he found himself lost. With more guests he imagined it would have been easier to find his way, but he was alone and the trickle of guards had all but stopped as he made his way deeper into the palace.

At long last, as he turned one of the corridors, he came face to face with an extremely handsome boy slightly older than him with dark wavy hair and cheekbones that looked like they could cut diamond. He was wearing a brilliant gold suit even more elegant than his own, and while his expression had been bored and disdainful before they met each other’s eyes (now it was more like mild surprise), Harry didn’t let this deter him.

“Um, I’m really sorry but I think I’m lost?” he smiled at the stranger nervously.

The stranger’s expression changed to incredulity. “Are you here for the ball?” he asked, his voice neutral.

“Yeah. Are you?”

Something passed across the stranger’s face that Harry couldn’t place, and he wondered whether he was missing something. “Yes,” he replied after a moment. “I’m heading there now. You can accompany me if you’d like.”

Harry grinned in relief and the stranger led the way. The few guards they passed stared in shock, and Harry assumed it was because the stranger was so devastatingly attractive. If he hadn’t been so excited to get to the ballroom, Harry was sure he would have been like that too.

“So,” the stranger said in a tone like forced nonchalance. “Ready to try to seduce the prince?”

Seduce the prince? Harry laughed at the thought. He, Harry, was nothing to someone like Prince Tom. No, Dudley could chase the prince all he wanted. Harry was just happy to have these few hours of freedom.

This probably wasn’t the answer the stranger expected, going by his surprised expression. “Sorry,” Harry said. “I just meant- not me, no. I’m not interested in manipulating anyone.” Then he remembered that was probably the reason this boy was here, and he quickly added, “No offence.”

The stranger stared at him for a moment with an unreadable expression, and Harry began to worry that he’d offended the stranger somehow. Then the stranger looked away.

“None taken,” the stranger said. He stopped walking and Harry stopped too. “We’ve arrived. Perhaps I’ll see you later,” the stranger smirked as he pushed open the set of double doors they’d come to.

The ballroom was massive and loud, but a hush fell over it as the doors opened. Everyone turned to stare at them, and the sight of thousands of eyes looking at him made him feel queasy. The stranger seemed to be expecting this, so Harry tried to discreetly inch away from him to blend in with one of the nearby groups. The stranger made an aborted movement with his hand, as if he’d wanted to keep Harry next to him but changed his mind at the last second. As many eyes followed him as stayed on the stranger so Harry continued until he was hidden from sight of everyone except one small group that wasn’t watching him.

Through the crowds he could just about see the stranger walking casually across the ballroom to a set of two stairs leading up to a dais. Looking between that and the door, Harry realised that the door they’d entered through must have been a secondary door, because behind the dais there were two massive ones that were far more gilded and impressive.

The stranger ascended the steps and stood on the lower of two balconies of the dais, the other balcony far higher and overlooking the ballroom but with no observable way up, beside a crowned man- must be the king- wait-

_Fuck._

The stranger was Prince Tom.

And Harry was an idiot.

“Welcome,” said the king, when Tom had settled next to him. Although Harry was late, they must not have officially begun the ball in Tom’s absence. “This is, as you know, the first ball of three. We both hope you enjoy yourselves and make sure to… mingle…” the king smiled as a giggle went through the crowd. It seemed to irritate Tom.

The king whispered something to Tom, who descended the stairs again. Tom looked up and met Harry’s eyes from across the room, and a jolt went through him. He couldn’t look away as Tom walked towards him- surely he couldn’t be walking _to_ him- but then someone bravely stepped in Tom’s path.

The eye contact broken, Harry blinked and looked around. Everyone’s gaze was fixed on Tom and this new person, a blonde woman in a pretty dress. The pair began to dance, and slowly other couples joined them, until finally the noise returned and Harry could breathe again.

“Are you here on your own?” a kind voice asked him. It belonged to a large, friendly-looking ginger woman from the group closest to him. Harry nodded. “Come join us, dear, the crowds can be awfully daunting.”

Gratefully Harry accepted this invitation and joined the group, which consisted of about ten other people, the majority of which were also ginger.

“I’m on my own too,” said one of the girls in the group, a girl with slick brown hair and a blue dress. “My parents couldn’t make it. Is it the same for you?”

“Um… yeah,” Harry said.

“I’m Hermione Granger. What’s your name?”

“I can’t tell you,” Harry said apologetically. “I physically can’t. Sorry.”

Hermione looked intrigued. “Why not?”

Harry grew red quickly as everyone looked at him. “I made a promise to someone, and now I couldn’t break it even if I wanted to. It’s like-”

“Magic?” A ginger boy with freckles cut in, amused. “That’s because it probably is.”

Hermione became suddenly alarmed. “Shut up, Ron! You’re not supposed to say things like that in public.”

“Come off it! Just look at him, there’s no way his clothes are muggle-made.”

Harry watched the volley mildly, not quite sure what to do. To his relief, in the midst of the argument the rest of the group split up into smaller conversations, so Harry could relax slightly. After a while, Ron turned to him, exasperated.

“You _are_ a wizard, right?” he said, ignoring Hermione’s put out expression.

Harry didn’t know what to answer to that. “My clothes were made by a house-elf,” he offered instead. Ron took this as an acceptable answer, and he and Hermione dissolved into bickering again. Harry didn’t understand what they were talking about as they were using phrases he’d never heard of like ‘Ministry of Magic’ and ‘International Statute of Secrecy’.

“They get like this all the time. I agree with Ron though, you look like you’re made of stars,” someone said quietly to him- a ginger girl who looked slightly younger, perhaps 17, wearing a pastel blue and pink dress. “I’m Ginny, by the way.”

“Hello Ginny, I’m-” Harry choked and made a disgruntled noise. “Damn it.”

Ginny smiled at him. “Will you dance with me? I don’t think those two will be done for a while.”

Harry took her offered hand. “I can’t dance, you know.”

Ginny shrugged. “Just follow my lead.”

In the next few moments he learned that one, Ginny was a great dancer, two, he was not, and three, it didn’t particularly matter because if he just allowed Ginny to pull him along he could get away with it.

Faces passed in a blur, but there was a common factor in all of the ones he saw, namely that they were looking at him. “I don’t like this,” he said quietly, and to his surprise Ginny stopped almost immediately.

“There’s a refreshments table over there, and a bar,” Ginny said, pointing. Harry nodded and she led the way.

“There’s no way this ballroom is as big as I think it is,” said Harry, looking around. The ballroom… it was massive. He knew that Privet Manor was quite large, but this was the Manor multiplied by a hundred and double that more enchanting. Ginny laughed.

“It’s like Ron said: Magic.”

They approached the bar with Harry behind Ginny slightly when he noticed them. The Dursleys. He stopped abruptly.

“I can’t go over there,” he said to Ginny.

“Why?”

“My… relatives are there. The Dursleys.” Harry cast an anxious look over at them but thankfully they weren’t facing his and Ginny’s way. Nevertheless he pulled Ginny slightly to the side so he was hidden from sight by a flirting couple. Once out the the line of danger, Harry couldn’t help eyeing the refreshments table, stacked with so much food Harry thought it must have taken days to compile.

“The Dursleys?” Ginny asked, a dawning comprehension on her face. Harry brought his attention back to her. “That makes you Harry Potter, doesn’t it?”

Harry blinked. “How- how did you know that?”

“My parents knew your parents before they died. It’s come up once or twice. Actually, I’m surprised none of us recognised you from your scar.”

Almost subconsciously, Harry reached up to shift some of his hair to cover his scar. He was surprised to touch smooth waves instead of the usual mess, and made a mental note to look in the mirror at some point before he went home.

“At least you know my name now,” Harry said, more cheerfully than he felt.

Ginny must have sensed this, because she said, “Look, they’ve left!” and practically dragged him to the bar by the food table. “A firewhiskey and a- Harry?- a scotch, please,” she said to the bartender, and within seconds they’d been served. Harry supposed service _would_ be faster in a palace.

Ginny passed Harry the scotch and downed half of her own drink. He did the same to his, revelling in the harsh taste of vanilla and smoke. It was much better than the stuff Harry had been stealing from Uncle Vernon’s stash every year on his birthday, but that was a given really.

Ginny turned away for a few seconds, and Harry took the opportunity to swipe something small from the refreshments table. It was something bready, and as Harry thought it would be, it was delicious.  

Without much speaking, Ginny and Harry made their way through the crowds back to where they’d started. Once again, Harry felt eyes on him from all sides.

“Am I being paranoid or are there… people… staring?” he said warily.

Ginny gave him a disbelieving look. “Have you _seen_ yourself?”

Harry shook his head, flushing. Ginny looked rather satisfied.

The woman from before- Ginny’s mother, evidently- fussed about her the instant they returned, and Harry took a reprieve from social niceties. He wasn’t used to speaking to people that weren’t the Dursleys, and as nice as these people were, Harry found himself more than a little drained. He downed the rest of his scotch quickly.

Catching his eye, Hermione pointed a finger at the empty glass and it disappeared from his hand.

“What happened to ‘not in public’?” Ron said, coming up next to her. Ignoring him skilfully, she smiled at Harry.

“It’s great in here, isn’t it? So many people from such different cultures all coming together,” she grinned.

“Yeah, under the common goal of bedding the prince,” Ron said.

“Not everyone’s here for that,” Harry said. “I mean, I know I’m not.”

“Same for us,” Ron said with a mildly put out expression. “My Dad’s here to observe the muggles, I’m here for the free food, and Hermione’s just here to spread awareness for spew-”

“It’s not _spew_ , Ronald, it’s the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare.”

“You mean house-elves?” Harry asked. His thoughts immediately supplied an image of Dobby.

Hermione nodded eagerly while Ron just looked bored. “Exactly! Did you know that most house-elves work without pay or sick days, and are treated _horribly_ by their masters? They don’t even have time for themselves, they’re just expected to do whatever their masters want from the day they’re employed to the day they die. It’s _disgusting._ ”

It was a pretty apt description of himself, Harry thought, but he didn’t say so. He wondered if Dobby had a master, and if they treated him well.

He was about to ask if there were elves that didn’t work for any master when Ron and Hermione’s eyes widened comically in unison, focused on something behind him.

Harry turned and came face to face with Prince Tom, who was looking straight at him, striding purposefully towards him. Harry felt much like a deer caught in front of a speeding carriage.

Tom barely paused when he reached Harry, but instead pulled at Harry’s robe to get him to follow. “I’m done mingling,” he said distastefully. “Come with me.”

Harry only just managed to wave to a baffled Ron and Hermione. “Excuse me your majesty, but have you mistaken me for someone else? Someone who isn’t quite so, er, confused?” Harry asked, not wanting to be rude but at the same time- like he’d said- _very_ confused.

Tom’s are-you-fucking-kidding-me look told him that no, he hadn’t.

Tom led Harry (there had been a lot of leading going on tonight, Harry noticed) to a small door almost unnoticeable unless you were right next to it. Tom pushed it open and Harry followed him into a gust of fresh air- a garden.

It was surprisingly dark, but the area was lit with lanterns. As the door swung closed behind Harry, all noise from the ballroom was cut off, and the night was drenched in silence.

Tom ran a hand down his face, completely ignoring Harry and collapsing onto a nearby bench. Harry stood awkwardly near the door, choosing to observe the neat paths lined with trees and flowers that criss-crossed until Harry couldn’t see them anymore in the dark. After a moment he directed his attention back to Tom, who, Harry realised with a jolt of surprise, was now staring at him.

“It’s a lovely garden,” Harry said lamely. Tom’s mouth twitched.

“I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything,” Tom said, not looking at all like he cared.

“Well...” Harry trailed off and decided not to answer that. “Why are we here?”

Tom settled himself into the bench, taking his time to answer. “I was done socialising for the night. Too many people all wanting my attention. It bored me.”

Harry nodded slowly. “That explains why _you_ are here. Could you now explain why  _I_ am here?”

Tom frowned as if the answer was obvious and Harry was being deliberately obtuse. He felt a spike of irritation but kept his own face neutral. “I couldn’t have left on my own otherwise people- my father’s people- would come looking for me to drag me back in. If I left with someone, they might assume it was because we wanted some… privacy.”

The way that word dripped off of Tom’s lips made Harry shiver. “And that someone had to be me?” He asked.

Tom scoffed. “Of course it had to be you. You’re the only one I’ve met who isn’t interested in getting in my pants.”

Harry flinched at the euphemism. “Well… okay,” he said, unable to think of anything else to say. He was probably just as boring as the company inside to Tom.

Tom nodded and didn’t say anything else. After a moment of deliberation Harry settled himself on the bench opposite him, focusing on literally anything else to avoid staring at Tom’s handsome face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! We haven't had Tom's pov in a while but never fear, as next Sunday's update is 85% Tom! As always feel free to leave a comment- quote your favourite line, make fun of my chapter titles, or even tell me your patronus. I always reply. :)
> 
> On another note, coincidentally today is Rosemachine's birthday so Happy Birthday friend! I dedicate this chapter to you. Somewhere, Dylan O'Brien is smiling, and we can pretend it's at you. :)


	5. professor riddle and the curious boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom finds a puzzle in the middle of the first ball, and he wants to solve it.

Tom’s father had disapproved of Tom being late to the ball. Tom’s father had very much approved of Tom arriving with the well-dressed attractive man with black wavy hair and sleek glasses.

For, as much as Tom didn’t want to admit it, the boy _was_ attractive.

This was part of the reason Tom didn’t speak after their initial conversation in the garden. That and also there was simply no point. The boy was only there to allow Tom to get away from the ball and its severely annoying occupants. At points he thought the boy was just going to leave him and return to the ball, but he didn’t. Maybe the boy wasn’t aware that was an option.

“Are you a wizard?”

The question snapped Tom out of his introspection. The boy was looking at him with mild curiosity, and it was difficult to look away from his eyes.

“I am,” he said after a pause. “Are you?”

It should be a stupid question; the boy was obviously a wizard. His entire figure screamed it. And yet, he could have fixed his sight and not have to wear glasses if he were a wizard, but he didn’t. Curious.

“I’m not a wizard,” said the boy with some trepidation, causing Tom to evaluate his expression. He didn’t look like he was lying, but he couldn’t have been telling the truth.

“You don’t look like a muggle.”

“What’s a muggle?”

Tom nearly choked. “... Someone who doesn’t have magic.”

“Someone like me, then,” the boy said, and it was almost defiantly, as though he was proud to be disagreeing with Tom.

Tom didn’t answer, narrowing his eyes and scrutinising the boy in front of him the best he could in the low lighting. It didn’t add up.

“Why did you ask if I was a wizard if you’re not one? How could you know?” Tom dismissed the thought that he might have to perform a memory charm on the boy. There was more to this.

The boy considered his answer for a while, and Tom wondered what words he had decided not to say. “I know people who are witches and wizards,” were the ones he did.

“Muggles aren’t suppose to know about magic,” Tom said neutrally, watching the boy’s reaction carefully.

The boy smiled slightly, but it was a hard smile. “Then make me forget. I’ll just come back tomorrow and know everything again.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why will you come back?”

A slight flash of something- hurt, maybe- crossed the boy’s face but was gone in an instant. Tom continued quickly to avoid losing this puzzle of a conversation partner. “You’ve already admitted you’re not interested in gaining my favour, and you haven’t left me to go back to the ballroom so I assume there’s nothing too important waiting for you inside. What, then, is the point? Why would you waste so much money on clothing and transport if not to gain something from it?”

“But I _am_ gaining something from it,” the boy said immediately. He didn’t elaborate, though, and Tom was left with more questions than answers. “Why are _you_ here?” the boy said with a similar curiosity to before.

“I don’t want to be. I have to.” Tom spoke bitterly and was so singularly focused on his resentment for a moment that he almost missed the boy unconsciously leaning backwards from him. “My father arranged this ball for me to find a _lover_ ,” Tom almost spat the word, “so we can marry and create a lovely picture for the rest of the world while completely ignoring what I actually want. I didn’t have a say in it, of course.”

“Are you sure he isn’t just doing this to give you a chance to be happy?” the boy said quietly.

“You don’t know my father,” Tom said without looking at him.

“I don’t know mine either,” the boy said, so softly Tom was sure he wasn’t supposed to hear. He looked up at the boy discreetly. His expression was vulnerable and inward-looking, distant. With a sudden strong desire to know the boy’s thoughts, Tom briefly considered using legilimency, but something told him he wouldn’t get very far, which brought Tom back once more to the conclusion that the boy _must_ be a wizard.

All the same, he waited a long while before he broached the subject again.

“Have you ever,” he began, watching the boy jump at the sudden noise, “made things happen to people who annoyed you? Things that weren’t normal?”

The boy looked at him, seemingly deliberating his answer. “I think I set a snake on my cousin last week,” he blurted.

Tom couldn’t help it; he laughed.

“I didn’t mean to- it’s really not that funny- _stop laughing_!” the boy stood up in indignation, but that only made Tom laugh harder.

And then something occurred to him, and he stopped immediately.

“You spoke to the snake?” he asked, with more urgency than perhaps was necessary.

The boy, taken aback, nodded.

Tom nodded too, with an air of satisfaction. He’d been right, obviously. And with a gift like that… “You’re a wizard. And, apparently you’re a parselmouth; the only other parselmouth I’ve met in my life.”

“Speaking to snakes isn’t normal?”

“Speaking to snakes is often considered dark magic, and the gift is extremely rare.” Tom found that his interest in the boy had increased tenfold in light of this revelation. He smiled.

However the boy _still_ , for some absurd reason, wanted to disagree. “But I spoke to it normally, like I was talking to a person. It wasn’t anything special.”

“If you say so,” Tom said softly, not quite able to keep the dubiousness out of his voice.

“Also I’m not a wizard,” the boy muttered, but as Tom was about to roll his eyes so much they would hurt afterwards, he saw the tiny smirk on the boy’s face and found he didn’t have to.

“You don’t have to take my word for it,” Tom found himself saying. “Let me show you.”

“Okay…” the boy said warily.

Tom stood up and stepped towards him, taking the boy’s hand and pulling him to stand too. He held the boy’s hand in his own between them and whispered “ _Lumos.”_ The boy gasped at the sudden light radiating from between their hands. “I’m going to let go in a few seconds, but you can feel the magic, I know it. I would like you to keep the light in your hands without my help.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “That’s ridiculous. I _can’t!_ ”

“Calm yourself. I know you can do it, and deep down you know it too.” Tom loosened his hold on the boy’s hand, and after a moment he let go, letting his magic go too. If the light spell continued, it would be completely the boy’s doing.

The light stayed. Tom felt his lips curl into a smile of their own accord. He did enjoy being proven right. The boy looked stunned, staring at his own hand. He looked up to meet Tom’s eyes and grinned blindingly. One of Tom’s hands found the boy’s shoulder in a congratulatory grasp, and the moment was practically _sweet_ until an unbidden thought wormed its way into Tom’s head.

 _This is exactly what your father wants_.

Tom’s smile froze on his face and he suddenly noticed how close he was standing to the boy. Tom stepped backwards and released the boy’s shoulder like he’d been burned.

The light flickered out.

“It was only a simple spell,” Tom said, and this time the hurt that flashed across the boy’s face was unmistakeable. “Perhaps with time…” he trailed off, losing interest in finishing the sentence, and _Merlin_ how he hated the low, icy way his voice had sounded but the damage was done. He turned away from the boy to not have to look at his face.

“We can go inside,” the boy suggested quietly, a steely tone subtly underlying in his voice. “If you’re done _mingling_ again.”

“If you like.” Despite his words it was Tom who led them both back to the door. The barrage of noise was jarring and unpleasant, severing them from the time they had shared in the garden. The large clock on the wall said it was 11:38.

When Tom looked back for the boy, he was nowhere to be seen, and Tom had to fight the sinking feeling that he may have just chased away the only interesting person in this ballroom.

And he hadn’t even found out the boy’s name.

* * *

Harry didn’t want to be thankful for Tom suddenly going cold on him, but he couldn’t help it. If he’d left any later he would have had to walk home; as it was, no sooner had he left the carriage than it suddenly contracted, and was simply a pumpkin sat upon by two butterflies.

The pleasant feeling of his clothes on his skin disappeared, replaced by the whale skin monstrosity. He rushed into the house and peeled the tatters off, discarding them in a corner of his cupboard and putting on his night clothes instead. The bruise from Dudley’s punch, unfortunately, had returned when Dobby’s spell wore off. It ached.

It was midnight, so the Dursleys probably wouldn’t be home for hours. Harry supposed he should probably do some work to make it look like he’d been home since they left. The bathroom it was. At least it was a relatively mindless job.

The night had passed by like a dream. He’d met Hermione, Ron, Ginny- he’d met _Prince Tom_ , and he didn’t even know it was him for part of it. And then there was the garden…

Harry wasn’t entirely sure whether he wanted to meet Tom again. Hell, he wasn’t even sure whether Tom wanted to meet _him_ again, he’d turned cold on Harry so quickly. Harry knew that if he did speak to Tom again it would only make it more difficult when the three days were up and his illusion of freedom was torn away. But it might be the only chance Harry would ever have to speak to someone who was on his side.

… Well, Tom wasn’t on the Dursleys’ side, anyway, and that was what mattered. Not that Tom knew the Dursleys… Oh, whatever. He would let tomorrow night play out like it would. Perhaps he would even ask Dobby about house-elves and their masters.

For now, though, he would finish cleaning the bathroom. And then he would sleep.

* * *

It was far too late when all of the guests finally left, and though all Tom wanted to do was sleep, all his father wanted to do was _talk._

“I noticed you were absent for a portion of the night,” his father said, finally getting to the point some time later.

“I was,” Tom said with the most disinterest he could muster, which was in fact a lot.

“I also noticed you were with someone. Was it someone I’d like to meet?”

Tom rolled his eyes. “He is a wizard, and judging by his clothes I’d say he is well off.”

His father smiled. “You chose well, Tom.”

Tom’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “It’s not like that at all,” he said, in the clear now that he couldn’t be bodily dragged from the garden- not that any of the guards could take him if he really fought back. “We only talked. I don’t even know his name.”

“Then find out tomorrow!” His father exclaimed as if it was obvious, and as if it was completely expected for Tom to court a person when he hadn’t even asked for their name first. Tom really hoped his father never tried to remarry, despite the fun that Tom might have chasing the potential spouse away.

Tom didn’t know if he would even see the boy tomorrow, but he didn’t say this. “I’ll try,” he said, if only to be left alone faster. His father nodded.

“Get some sleep, son. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Ugh. Tom really hoped not.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! That's one night down and two to go. I believe it's back to 100% Harry next Sunday. As always, feel free to comment and I'll see you next week!


	6. hp 2: a retelling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry goes to the ball for the second time with a new goal in mind.

When Harry awoke the next morning, it was as if nothing had happened the night before, even though it felt to Harry like he was in a whole other world to the one last night. 

They gave him more chores today than yesterday, chores that would take him deep into the night to complete, and for the first time Harry worried that he wouldn’t be able to pull this off. The Dursleys left the same time as the day before, all with a mean glint in their eyes, and Harry only waited a moment before meeting Dobby in the garden. 

As soon as Harry opened the door to see Dobby’s great eyes fixed upon him, Dobby got to work. Today’s outfit was the same as yesterday’s too, except the colour was a deep rich green instead of red. 

Harry took the opportunity when Dobby was conjuring the carriage again to ask him the question about house-elves he’d wondered last night.

“Oh yes, sir, Dobby is having to punish himself for even coming to see you. They don’t ask what Dobby is punishing himself for, but sometimes they reminds me to do extra punishments.”

Harry felt a great deal of empathy for Dobby in that moment. “Why don’t you just leave? Escape?” As if Harry was one to talk; he could have escaped, and yet he did not. 

“A house-elf must be set free, sir. And the family will never set Dobby free… Dobby will serve the family until he dies, sir.”

“What family?” Harry asked.

“The Malfoy family, sir.”

“And how do you set a house-elf free?”

“Dobby can only be freed if his masters present him with clothes, sir. Harry Potter must be going to the ball now, or he will be late. Dobby might be seeing you tonight, sir, for Dobby has been requested to join his masters to serve.”

A plan began to form in the back of Harry’s mind, but he didn’t pay attention to it for now. Instead he did what Dobby told him, and far faster than the night before, he was on his way to the ball. 

This time he wasn’t late, and the palace entrance was swarming with people. Harry kept nervously glancing around to make sure the Dursleys were nowhere near him, but eventually he was able to enter the palace. Harry must have made an impression with the guard the night before because unlike most of the others, he was let in immediately. 

This also meant that Harry probably wouldn’t see Tom again so quickly, but he figured that even if he  _ was  _ late again, Tom wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. 

He entered the ballroom through the larger door this time along with everyone else and descended the curved stairs. The ballroom was much more impressive from this angle, Harry thought. The night before, he hadn’t really taken the time to notice the fake icicles hanging from the chandeliers, the festive antlers hung at different parts of the room, or how the guests seem to spread outwards from the stairs like a colourful sea. 

It was actually remarkable, considering all of the people here, that Harry managed to find Ron and Hermione. He hesitated when he saw them, unsure of whether they would want him to approach them after his speedy exit yesterday. However, he shouldn’t have worried, because as soon as they caught sight of him they waved him over. 

“Harry!” Ron called. “We were worried about you. I thought the prince might have killed you out there or something,” he said, causing Hermione to roll her eyes and huff.

“ _ I  _ didn’t think that, Ron, that was just you… but to be sure, he  _ didn’t  _ hurt you or anything, did he?” 

Harry glanced between them, confused. “No, of course not. Why would you think he hurt me?”

Hermione grew awkward very quickly. “It’s just that nobody really  _ knows  _ anything about him. But people  _ do _ say that he’s intelligent, charming, cold and calm… but with a violent temper.”

Ron nodded. “I’m not ashamed. It was a well-founded worry. Glad you’re safe, though.”

Harry, who could understand where most of those words had gained their truth, considered this. “If people think that about him then why are they trying to marry him?” He asked. 

Ron snorted. “They want the money, don’t they! They don’t care what he’s like as long as he makes them rich and famous.”

Harry got that slightly ill feeling again that he’d felt when he heard Dudley speaking similarly about Tom. Though he knew Ron and Hermione weren’t like that, he was still relieved when that particular conversation ended because of a sudden hush around the room. 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked with everyone else up at the entrance, where Prince Tom and King Thomas now stood. Tonight Tom was wearing a different outfit, similarly well-fitting but with minor changes, including the colour. Tom’s outfit was grey and black with green flourishes, and Harry’s mouth twitched when he realised that they matched. 

The King’s welcome was essentially the same as yesterday’s: Have fun and mingle. 

Tom took the first dance again, this time with a blonde boy about Harry’s age wearing a suit of black velvet with a high collar. Their movements were enviably smooth, and Harry was so transfixed on the sight of them that he started at Ron’s remark, “Of course  _ Malfoy  _ would worm his way into dancing with the prince.” 

Harry spun to look at Ron. “Did you say ‘Malfoy’?”

Ron nodded, staring the same direction Harry had been a moment ago. “That’s Draco Malfoy dancing with the prince. His Mum and Dad are really rich- look, there’s Lucius Malfoy over there. He works at the same place as my Dad, and apparently he’s a nasty piece of work. If you ask me, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.” 

Harry was expecting Hermione to argue with Ron like she did with everything else he said, but in this case she just nodded in agreement, her expression hardening slightly in distaste. However, intrigued, Harry strained to see Lucius Malfoy between the couples dancing.

As he’d expected, Dobby was there. No sooner had Harry spotted him than Lucius, reacting to something Harry hadn’t seen, hit Dobby with his cane. Nobody else seemed to notice or care, and Ron and Hermione were still watching Tom. 

“You set a house-elf free by giving them a piece of clothing, right?” Harry said. 

“One of their masters has to give them the clothing,” Hermione corrected. “Why?” 

“I want to set one free,” Harry replied simply. 

Ron looked slightly uncomfortable, and after silent debating something, he said, “Are you sure they  _ want _ to be set free?”

“I want to set Malfoy’s house-elf free,” Harry clarified, and Ron’s doubts were suddenly dispelled. “The clothing part is easy. It’s getting Lucius to  _ give  _ it to Dobby that’s harder.” Harry reached down and removed his left shoe so he could take off his sock. Slipping back into the shoe, he presented his green sock to the two. 

“It’s quite simple, isn’t it?” Hermione said. “Put a glamour on it so it looks like something that Mr Malfoy would give to… Dobby, was it?” 

Harry nodded. 

“I could take it to him.” Ron said quietly. 

“What?” 

“I said I could take the sock to Malfoy. He works with my Dad, maybe you could make it look like an important piece of parchment,” Ron said, gaining more confidence as he went on. 

“Brilliant,” Harry said, and Hermione agreed. 

She muttered something under her breath, a spell probably, and the sock changed into a folded piece of parchment in front of Harry’s eyes. The level of detail was extraordinary; the writing on the parchment was so boring Harry didn’t even want to read it. 

As a huddle of three, they slowly moved closer to Lucius, but kept their distance. It was enough that they could see his expression. Harry handed Ron the sock-turned-parchment with what he hoped was an encouraging smile. He’d never had to give one of those before, so he wasn’t entirely sure. 

“Exciting, isn’t it?” Hermione grinned, and Ron’s scandalised expression told Harry that this wasn’t what they normally got up to. 

“Guess I’ll just…” Ron hesitated and then made a beeline for Lucius Malfoy. Dobby looked up and caught Harry’s eye, but Harry put a finger to his lips and Dobby looked away, pretending not to have seen anything. 

Harry and Hermione watched as Lucius took the parchment from a sullen Ron, eyed it with disgust, and handed it to Dobby almost without thinking. Hermione muttered again, and the parchment changed back into a sock in Dobby’s hands. Ron hurried back to them and as a three they edged away from master and house-elf, making sure to observe keenly. 

He could hear Dobby saying something in that high pitched voice, but he couldn’t make out the words. He could, however, make out Lucius’ alarmed and then enraged expression. Dobby vanished in thin air.

Lucius, looking murderous, scanned the crowd until he found the three of them. Ron was determinedly looking away, and he imagined Hermione was doing the same, but Harry met his gaze with a defiant expression, daring him to make a scene in front of all of these people. After what seemed like an age, Lucius walked away, and Harry could breathe again. 

“Forget selling SPEW badges,” Hermione said excitedly, drawing Harry’s attention back. “That was amazing! We freed a house-elf!” 

“Did you see his face?” Ron grinned, eyes glazed over with the memory. 

Harry smiled too. If he couldn’t save himself, he could at least save Dobby, who had done so much for him. He allowed himself to be drawn into discussion when the subject inevitably changed, feeling truly blessed for having met Ron and Hermione.

Harry’s desire to see Tom again lingered at the back of his mind, waiting. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, feel free to leave a comment and I'll see you next Sunday! Happy Halloween!


	7. 'h' is for 'hiding something'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom learns something new about the mysterious boy.

Tom hadn’t seen the boy from yesterday in the ballroom yet, and the gnawing worry that Tom had scared him off the night before only grew. 

It wasn’t that he  _ needed  _ the boy- barely even knew him- but he seemed a delicately crafted riddle within a shy but stubborn personality. Tom wanted the key to unlock him.

Preoccupied with his musings, Tom was grateful to Draco for intercepting him before anyone else could. 

“Careful, Draco, or miss Parkinson might get jealous,” Tom said quietly into Draco’s ear.

“Of who?” Draco drawled sarcastically, but his smile was tight. Lucius must be in a mood for Draco to be so obviously unsettled, and Tom led him over to the bar for something to calm his nerves. Though he didn’t know Draco that well, Draco had confided in Tom that his father shouted up a storm when he was angry, so Tom tried to keep Draco at the palace for as long as he could without it being indiscreet. 

They returned to the bottom of the stairs, an easy escape from the crowds if they needed it. Draco relaxed a little with a mug of butterbeer downed, but the tension never quite left him.

“You should be careful too,” Draco said, continuing their conversation. “With that stunt you pulled last night, you’ll be giving your father ideas.” 

Tom’s lip curled. “It wasn’t a stunt,” he defended. Draco smiled at him with mock passiveness but Tom ignored him. “And I needn’t worry about that, I’ve already given father ideas.”

“He’s in green tonight,” Draco said, blatantly not talking about his father. “If I wasn’t me and if you weren’t you, I might tell you to stay away from him. You’ve met him once, he could be  _ muggleborn  _ for all you know.” Draco’s sneer of distaste morphed into a smirk. “But I understand why you took a special liking to him, or rather to his face. I might even ask him to dance if he wasn’t buddying up to Granger and Weasley… and if I didn’t think he was already taken.”

“Taken?” 

Tom inwardly cursed the slight possessiveness that coloured his tone. Draco bordered on condescending. “By you,” he responded, with an irritatingly smug expression.

Before Tom could scathingly reply, that expression changed to alarm and then careful neutrality. Tom followed his line of sight to see Draco’s father coming towards them with purpose. Draco was stiff beside him.

Lucius walked over to them, and as he got closer Tom saw a nasty rage barely concealed behind his eyes. Tom subtly put himself in front of Draco, but Lucius stayed just out of arm’s reach. 

“Business requires my attention back at the manor,” Lucius said to Draco. “I haven’t the time to tell Narcissa. If you get a chance, inform her of my whereabouts, will you?” 

Draco nodded. Lucius bowed shortly to Tom, whispering, “My Lord,” and then disapparated. 

There was a silence between them. Tom wondered what happened, and noted the absence of the house-elf Lucius arrived with. Perhaps there was an emergency at the house that the elf needed to attend to faster? Or perhaps the elf  _ was  _ the problem…

“I… I need to find my-” 

“By the bar,” Tom cut in smoothly, spotting Narcissa’s gown and strike of white and brown hair easily even from this distance. Draco bowed too and left. 

In the silence he was left in, words Draco had spoken suddenly caught up to Tom. The boy was here in the ballroom. Tom climbed a few stairs to see better over the mass of people, and soon enough Tom found him.

He was indeed dressed in green, but overall his appearance was almost exactly the same as the night before. He was standing with three other people, two of whom Tom took to be the ‘Granger and Weasley’ that Draco had mentioned. The other girl was also ginger, and so was probably a Weasley too.

The Weasley girl noticed Tom staring first, with some surprise and then a knowing smile that irritated Tom, though he was careful not to let it show. Weasley whispered something to the boy, pointing at Tom, and when the boy turned to see him a gentle smile lit up his face. Tom found himself smiling slightly too. 

He made a ‘come hither’ motion with his finger, making sure the boy was watching, and then ascended the stairs and left through the open doors. He waited to the left, out of sight of any of the guests, but he knew instinctively that his father had seen him leave. 

It took the boy a couple of minutes to cross the ballroom to follow Tom- or Tom assumed that was why he was taking so long, he disliked the idea of being stood up- but follow Tom he did, a slight limp in his step apparent as he came into sight. Tom straightened from where he was leaning against the wall. 

“We match,” greeted the boy, gesturing to their clothes. 

“We do complement each other rather well,” Tom agreed with a small hint of amusement, taking the boy’s warm hand and guiding him up a flight of spiral stairs hidden by a curtain. 

They arrived on the high balcony overlooking the entire ballroom, far up enough that they couldn’t make out the faces of the people below him, though this was actually due to a privacy charm. It meant that the conversations below were a comfortable hum in the background. 

“It’s different from this angle,” the boy said. At Tom’s questioning look, he continued. “It’s more peaceful, and more… wintery. I’ve never seen yule decorations outside of the manor.”

So the boy lived in a manor. Unsurprising, given his appearance, but it was something. “Apparently the servants are using even more decorations tomorrow. I almost fear the sight.”

“All the more reason to come again tomorrow,” said the boy with a slight glint in his eye, but before Tom could analyse this it was replaced with a wince. 

“Are you alright?” said Tom, unable to stop himself. 

The boy nodded and sat in one of the velvet seats in the small balcony space. “I think I’ve got a blister.”

“Why?”

“Took my sock off,” the boy replied, as if it was completely normal. Who knew, maybe it  _ was  _ for the boy. Tom took the opportunity to sit next to him.

“It’s quite beautiful, isn’t it?” Tom said after a moment, looking down. “I never come up here, no reason to. But now… we’re so high above everyone else,” he mused.

“We’re not,” the boy said, appearing to catch Tom’s double meaning.

“Of course we are,” said Tom flippantly. “We rule these people, we control everything. Even the most average of wizards have this advantage over muggles. How is that not higher?” 

The boy sighed next to him. “In that case, let me rephrase;  _ I’m  _ not.” 

Tom scoffed, scanning the boy’s elegant and polished appearance. “Seriously? Looking like that?” At the boy’s defiant expression, Tom softened his voice. “You don’t have to hide from me,” he said. He rattled off the high families he knew of, trying to fit the boy into one of them. “Are you a Nott, Avery, Black? Crabbe, Goyle, Rookwood? Or a Lestrange, a Yaxley, a Carrow?” 

The boy adopted a bemused appearance. “I haven’t heard of any of those families,” he said, avoiding the question. 

“Don’t tell me you’re a Malfoy… no, not blonde, and you’re not ginger so you can’t be a Weasley,” Tom said, more to himself than to the boy.

“Good observation there. Very keen eyes you have,” the boy deadpanned.

“Well who  _ are _ you then? You know my name but I don’t know yours...” Tom’s perfected air of impatience couldn’t hide his genuine desperate curiosity, which the boy must have noticed. The boy’s expression changed to one of slight yearning and a tinge of sadness.

“I can’t tell you,” the boy said apologetically. 

“Why not?” Tom said, before a mild concern gripped him. “... You do  _ have  _ a name don’t you?” 

The boy laughed at him. Tom’s concern became indignation, and he frowned petulantly. The boy reached out to him through his laughter in an attempt to placate him. 

“Of course I have a name. I just can’t tell you what it is,” the boy said. Tom opened his mouth to question, to argue, but the boy put a hand on Tom’s cheek to silence him. It worked. “I want to tell you as much as you want to know,” the boy said earnestly. “I  _ can’t. _ Please, Tom, just leave it...”

The sound of his name on the boy’s lips surprised him almost as much as the genuine tone of resignation and regret he spoke with. He looked to where the boy’s hand was still on his cheek, an oddly pleasant feeling. 

The boy must have remembered Tom’s sudden cold spell from the night before, because when Tom brought his own hand up, he quickly withdrew his hand and looked away. “Sorry,” he muttered, and Tom wasn’t quite sure how to respond. His eyes closed of their own accord. 

It wasn’t as though he wanted to push the boy away. Last night he’d remembered, perhaps a little too late, that this entire ball was just an elaborate mousetrap that Tom was trying not to get caught in. This made the boy a particularly delicious piece of cheese that Tom refused to bite. But it wasn’t the boy’s fault, really, only the king’s.

The boy was just so… innocent. So unassuming. But there was  _ more  _ to him, evidently, and Tom wanted-  _ needed- _ to discover his secrets. 

“A letter,” Tom said later, when they’d spoken of hobbies and skills (the boy claimed he had none, a statement begging to be disproven, and they discussed it in great detail) and then lapsed into a comfortable silence. “Could you tell me the first letter?” 

The boy considered this, before slowly saying, “H.” The boy lit up like this was some amazing feat before jerking in shock. He brought his hand up, confused and clearly in some pain. Tom watched in stunned horror as the words ‘I must not tell lies’ etched themselves into the boy’s hand, soon fading but still visible. Tom looked into the boy’s face and saw a mixture of revulsion, realisation, and fear on his paled face. 

If this was what happened when the boy said ‘H’ Tom didn’t want to know what would happen if he said his whole name. The hint of bitterness Tom had carried at the boy’s reluctance to tell Tom his name disappeared completely to be replaced with... _ compassion _ , something Tom wasn’t used to feeling, and no small amount of protectiveness.  

“What… what was that?” Tom said, managing to keep his voice mostly even. 

The boy looked up slowly from his hand. “I don’t know,” he said, and either he was a terrible liar or he didn’t care that Tom knew he was lying. Tom raised a skeptical eyebrow, and the boy huffed in annoyance. “I made a promise that I wasn’t expecting to have to keep.”

“A promise to not disclose your name?”

The boy nodded.

“But it says ‘I must not tell lies’. Why would telling me your name be lying?”

The boy looked away, resignation looking spectacularly wrong on his face. “It’s like I said before, Tom… you may be above everyone else, but I’m very much below.”

Tom chose not to reply to that, because he had no idea what  _ to  _ reply. It made no sense, but left Tom with a sense of deep unease. “Does it still hurt?” he said instead. The boy hesitated, looking like he was trying to put on a brave face but utterly failing. “Give it to me,” Tom said. 

Tom took the boy’s hand and whispered a healing spell. It didn’t erase the words like Tom had hoped, but going from the boy’s sigh of relief and the slumping of his shoulders, it did at least curb his pain. Tom had a strong desire to ask who the boy had made the promise to so he could string them up for sport and carve some words of his own into their hands, but he knew instinctively that the boy wouldn’t tell him who it was.

It was so  _ infuriating _ , but perhaps that was part of the boy’s appeal. That and the conversations Tom weirdly enjoyed. 

The two lapsed into silence again, the boy practically sinking into his seat. Tom remembered that the boy said he had a blister, and so spent the next few minutes moving as slowly as he could into a position where he could cast the same healing spell on the boy’s foot so he wouldn’t notice. For some reason, Tom didn’t want the boy to feel indebted to him, or like Tom more for healing him. For some reason, Tom didn’t want to manipulate the boy more than he could help. 

“I have to go soon,” the boy said a little while afterwards, softly and regretfully.

Tom peered around the balcony and looked at the clock in disbelief; it was only 11:19. “Why must you leave so quickly?” 

“I’ve been here for hours,” the boy said with a wry smile, but at the lack of reaction in Tom he rolled his eyes. Tom got the impression the action was forced. “Why do you care? Are you going to miss me?” the boy said sarcastically. 

“Conversation is particularly dull when you have no-one to talk to,” Tom replied drolly, his eyes not leaving the boy’s face. 

The boy bit his lip but it didn’t hide his smile. “You could always speak to Malfoy,” he suggested. 

“What, Draco?” Tom asked, surprised the boy even knew who he was. 

The boy’s mouth twisted into a mischievous smile. “On a first name basis, are you, Tom? I’m envious.”

Tom smirked. “That’s funny… only earlier I got the impression he was jealous of  _ you _ .” 

The boy flushed a delicious red colour, trying and failing to hold back a grin. Tom’s smirk broadened into a grin of his own, and he leaned over the boy slightly if just to watch him squirm. The boy opened his mouth a few times as if to speak, but the sound never came, except to say the one phrase Tom wished he wouldn’t. 

“I’m sorry… but I really do have to go now.” The boy stood up and Tom stood with him. The boy began to walk awkwardly to the stairs because of his sockless foot, and Tom rolled his eyes.

“Stop,” he said. The boy turned to argue, but Tom cut him off. “Let me give you my sock at least, I don’t want you  _ limping  _ around the castle. Melodrama can be infectious, you know.” 

The boy snorted and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “That’s rich,” but Tom skilfully ignored him.

Tom removed his shoe and his sock as gracefully as he could for such an awkward movement, and kneeled down before the boy could protest. Hesitantly, and with an impatient glance from Tom, the boy let Tom remove his shoe and put his own sock on the boy’s foot. Tom might have laughed at any other time… actually the boy was probably the only one Tom would do this for, so that wasn’t entirely true. 

“There. Shall we?” Tom said when he stood, as if it wasn’t he who had suggested the delay in the first place. 

The boy’s expression was an unreadable mixture of emotions, but he did turn and start down the stairs. Tom followed closely behind. When the boy noticed just how close, he gasped and began to slip, but Tom reacted quickly, grasping and steadying him. The boy’s face was, again, flushed red, and Tom’s hand remained on the small of the boy’s back until they reached the bottom of the stairs. 

Tom watched the boy leave, restraining himself from dragging him back and keeping him at his side for the rest of the ball. Long after the boy had disappeared from Tom’s line of sight, Tom reluctantly entered the ballroom again, and felt the absence keenly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Kill Your Darlings is unfortunately no longer on UK Netflix which is incredibly disappointing, but if anyone wants to know what Harry looks like with Dobby's makeover find Daniel Radcliffe as Allen Ginsberg (not including the clothes of course). See you next Sunday!


	8. it's dat boi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is delayed before the final ball by a disturbing revelation, while Tom refuses to dance with anyone other than the boy he knows only as 'H'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> o shit waddup! 
> 
> Did anyone ask for a long chapter? Because I'm pretty sure this is the longest in the fic. Also if anyone's interested in songs, I listened to 'To Build A Home' by The Cinematic Orchestra on repeat from the POV switch until the end of the chapter (and probably into the next chapter too but that's not up yet).

It was extremely difficult for Harry to suppress his smile the next day when Dudley complained loudly at breakfast. It was made even harder for how little sleep he’d gotten that night, doing chores until the early hours and only stopping when the Dursleys pulled up at the house.

“I mean how are we supposed to get the prince to like us if he keeps leaving the ball?” Dudley whined as Harry refilled his glass.

“You’ll just have to try harder tonight, sweetums, and even if he doesn’t choose you we’ll love you the same,” Aunt Petunia crooned.

“Yeah Dud, and if anyone gets in the way you can smack ‘em with your stick,” Uncle Vernon commented gruffly. Harry had to clap a hand over his mouth to stop himself laughing. Dudley was bringing a _stick_ to the ball?

Unfortunately it turned out it wasn’t as funny as Harry had originally thought; Dudley’s stick was a hard cane that looked similar to the one Lucius Malfoy had last night. A chill ran down Harry’s spine as he imagined Dudley hitting him with it like Lucius had hit Dobby. If only the sock Tom gave him had set him free like he, Harry, had set Dobby free.

Tonight Dudley was wearing a maroon suit with a matching boater hat and that cane. He paraded around the house with it on, his friends following him around and laughing at Harry whenever they saw him cleaning. Apparently the sight of him never got old.

As they were about to leave, Aunt Petunia ushered Dudley outside, giving Uncle Vernon an important look. The door shut and Uncle Vernon turned on Harry.

With a sudden dread, Harry tried to smile innocently, pulling his sleeve over his hand to hide the new scar just in case Uncle Vernon made the connection. “Aren’t you going too, Uncle Vernon?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, boy,” Uncle Vernon growled. Harry stepped backwards. “A friend at the ball said they saw you there last night.”

“Who would recognise _me_?” Harry said, but at Uncle Vernon’s angry look he rushed to defend himself. “You said I couldn’t go looking like I did! So I changed! You didn’t forbid me from going,” he said quickly as Uncle Vernon advanced on him.

Uncle Vernon grabbed him by the shirt, dragged him and then threw him into his cupboard. Everything went dark as Uncle Vernon slammed and bolted the door closed.

“I _forbid_ you from coming to the ball tonight, do you hear me?” Uncle Vernon said, as if he hadn’t just physically stopped Harry from leaving. Harry listened with sinking spirits as Uncle Vernon slammed the front door closed. If he listened hard enough, he could just about hear the carriage pulling away.

Harry tried to fight away the sudden panic that overtook him. He would be let out eventually… everything would be okay… he would never see Tom again-

He steadied himself with a hand on the wall against the sudden onslaught of anger and sadness that coursed through him at that thought. He forced himself to breathe, to try to calm down and think rationally. It wasn’t as if he’d never been locked in his cupboard before. It was only different because this time he had a reason to leave it.

In a burst of spite, Harry turned and kicked his bed, the bed he’d had since he was too big for a cot and hadn’t been replaced since. This bed, this mockery of a room, was the culmination of how the Dursleys felt about him. He was a thing to them, a tool to be brought out and used but put back into the cupboard when they were done with him.

And why, then, did he want to go to the ball where they too would be? On the first night, he might not have been able to answer properly. All he’d known then was he wanted to get away from this awful house that he knew so intimately he was able to literally hate every inch of the place.

Now, though, his answer was different. Ron, Hermione, Ginny- friendship that he’d never known before. Being treated as an equal by those who didn’t know him, even if Umbridge had been right and he didn’t deserve it. But perhaps the most pressing of reasons… _Tom…_

He needed to get out of this cupboard.

Would Dobby hear him from the garden? He wasn’t exactly close to it, but he didn’t have very many options. Unfortunately, he couldn’t seem to find his voice. Calm. Calm. He needed to be calm. Tom’s velvet voice sounded in his head, not really speaking words but there in the back of his mind from where Harry had the sound memorised. It felt like his world had changed completely since he’d met Tom, since the garden, since the spell…

“Lumos,” Harry whispered with his eyes closed, hoping against all hope, and when he opened his eyes again he could see. The warmth in his hands spread, the thought of Tom making it ever stronger, and Harry managed a weak smile at his achievement before he started shouting at the top of his lungs. “Dobby! _Dobby!_ I’m trapped in the house, Dobby!”

There was a moment where Harry thought Dobby wasn’t coming for him, but then there was a loud crack and Dobby was in the cupboard too. Harry started, jerking backwards and hitting his head on the wall.

“Ow…” he muttered, rubbing at it. Dobby, paying this no mind, threw himself at Harry and sobbed. Harry was dumbfounded.

“Master gave Dobby a sock! Harry Potter made Master set Dobby free! Dobby is free… Dobby is a free elf…” Dobby dissolved in tears again, and this time, knowing why Dobby was crying, Harry patted him on the back comfortingly. “But… Never mind Dobby… now we must be getting to the ball!”

Dobby pulled himself away and snapped his fingers. The door unlocked and swung open with a bang against the outside wall.

Harry followed Dobby into the garden while Dobby said things that made Harry go red in the face like, “Harry Potter is valiant and bold!” mixed with intermittent sobs of happiness.

The carriage and horses were already there and waiting as they exited the house. Dobby snapped and the pain from his head and foot was gone. His clothes had been replaced with a suit and robe of a sparkling silver colour.

“Am I going to see you again?” Harry asked Dobby as he climbed into the carriage; it had occurred to him that without another ball there was no reason for Dobby to come back.

“Of course, sir!” Dobby beamed. “Dobby will not just abandon Harry Potter!”

Feeling much more relieved and relaxed than he did just minutes ago, Harry set off for the palace for the third and final time.

* * *

Tom stood at the bottom of the balcony staircase, hidden from the guests as he watched them filter in. When his father beckoned him inside for the first dance, Tom was reluctant to go, because the boy had not been there.

As he’d heard, the ballroom was heavily decorated this night far more than the other two. There was fake snow on giant evergreen trees that stood in all four corners of the room, and the ceiling had been bewitched to look like it was snowing. Large ribbons decorated the walls, making the ballroom look like the interior of a wrapped present.

This was supposed to be the show-stopper, Tom knew. His father wanted Tom to choose tonight. What would happen when Tom chose no-one? Or worse, what would happen if Tom did actually choose someone…

Tom resisted the urge to look behind him with all of those eyes upon him. He hadn’t even been paying attention to his father’s speech, though he was sure it was the same mantra again, with emphasis on the ‘everyone seduce my son’ part.

There was an odd tightening in Tom’s chest as he descended the stairs to choose a partner, as if his body was rejecting the notion of him dancing with anyone tonight. Well, anyone except the boy he only knew as ‘H’, but he wasn’t anywhere Tom could see.

A large boy with a cane and an odd hat stepped up to him first from the side, and Tom turned to hear him out, though he knew he was likely to refuse to dance with anyone until everyone inevitably decided to dance without him. It would take a while. The very idea of a defiance so public almost made Tom smile.

“May I h-have the honour of the first dance, your majesty?” The large boy said. Tom was about to reply when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and he turned slightly to see, hoping to every deity he could think of that it was him.

The boy stepped into the entrance. Most eyes must have turned on him, for a collective intake of breath swept up the guests of the ballroom, Tom included. Tonight the boy wore robes of ethereal silver that touched the floor, flowing and fitting snug in all of the right places to make Tom’s breath come a little shallower.

The boy’s roaming eyes found Tom, but slid over to the large boy next to him with actual loathing, an expression Tom hadn’t seen on the boy’s face until now. If he were the large boy he’d probably be scared, but Tom realised that the large boy hadn’t taken his eyes off of him. Tom fixed him with a cold look that didn’t hope to match his boy’s loathing, but had a stronger effect.

“I can’t fault you for trying, but ah… no,” Tom said to the large boy’s stricken face, unwilling to waste more of his time on the large boy thinking of a more cutting response. The effect was good enough as it was. Tom turned and walked away, towards his boy, who descended the stairs with his own face slightly turned away so Tom couldn’t see his expression.

They met halfway between where they’d started, with other guests parting to let both of them come together.

His boy took his hand and turned them around so if Tom tried he could have seen the large boy in the distance. He didn’t try. Tom caressed his boy’s cheek with the back of his hand, watching his boy blush.

He wasn’t going to say the words, though he wanted to. This felt important, and so it had to be his boy that spoke first.

“Dance with me, Tom?” his boy said tentatively, and the words were beautiful on his lips.

Tom smiled, nodded, and held his boy by the waist and hand. His boy brought his hand up to Tom’s shoulder, and the music started slow.

“I can’t dance,” his boy added as they began.

Tom shook his head in dismissal. “I can dance well enough for the both of us,” he replied.

His boy rested his head upon Tom’s other shoulder, whispering that he didn’t want his face to be seen by someone whose name Tom didn’t catch. His boy was short enough that he didn’t have to bend to rest his head against him. Tom tried to pretend that he didn’t relish the feeling of his boy’s comfort, trust that Tom would guide them well enough that his boy could rest his head undisturbed. But he didn’t try _that_ hard.

He didn’t often lift his gaze from the boy in his arms, but each time he did more and more people had joined the slow dance. Once, he looked up as Dumbledore was passing, dancing with Grindelwald. Dumbledore smiled in approval and winked at him. Tom only smiled down at his boy.

The song ended far too quickly for Tom’s liking, and when his boy lifted his head they were at the other end of the ballroom, next to the door to the garden. This time it was his boy who pulled him through it, into the silence of the night.

His boy relaxed more once they were outside, releasing tension Tom hadn’t realised that he was holding. Far from his reservedness earlier, his boy suddenly grinned, filled with a childlike joy that Tom would have hated in anyone else.

“It’s snowing!” he said excitedly, putting his hand out to catch snowflakes. “I never get to see snow.”

It was snowing for the first time this year, and the way it fell around his boy almost convinced Tom that he was dreaming. Alone, Tom took the time to really take his boy’s appearance in. His skin, darker than Tom’s, was reddened a little with the cold, and his long eyelashes were catching snowflakes in them. His green eyes were striking against the pale backdrop, and his hair was handsome but strangely dishevelled.

Noticing Tom staring, his boy explained. “I was in a rush. I… left late.”

Tom didn’t register how suspicious-sounding his words were until later, because at this moment he was busy noticing markings on his forehead. Tom reached out and brushed his boy’s hair back from his face, eliciting a soft gasp, and revealing the lightning scar underneath.

Tom traced the scar with his finger and it sent a jolt of electricity through him. His boy closed his eyes and reached up with his own hand to take Tom’s.

“Is there… Is there shade? From the snow?” his boy asked. Both of them were starting to get a little damp, and while Tom could have summoned a warming spell, he didn’t want to give up the opportunity to warm his boy himself.

Tom pulled his boy behind him, heading towards the giant willow tree he knew the location of but couldn’t quite see in the dark. There was a bench underneath it, and this is where the pair sat when they reached the tree. As bare as the leaves were, the thick branches still managed to shade Tom and his boy from the delicately falling snow.

“ _Accio_ _lantern_ ,” Tom muttered, and he caught the lantern that flew at him. He hung it on a low branch of the tree and whispered a few more spells to brighten the light so that he and his boy could see around them comfortably.

The bench below the tree was cold and hard, but his boy still relaxed onto it with the ease of someone used to discomfort. Not for the first time, Tom wondered how much of his boy’s mystery was yet to be unravelled.

“What are you thinking about?” his boy asked, his eyes shy.

“You,” Tom replied simply. His boy’s cheeks reddened.

His boy seemed to want to say something, opening his mouth and then closing it and looking away on multiple occasions. Eventually Tom took his boy’s face in his hands and gave him an expectant look, to which his boy submitted.

“How do you speak parsel- parseltongue to someone who isn’t a snake?” he said, taking Tom by surprise.

Tom considered the question, drawing on his past experiences, most of which _were_ talking to snakes. “ _Practise, I suppose,”_ he hissed. “ _I can just speak it at will, but then I’ve been speaking it for years.”_

“I can’t even tell the difference between it and English,” his boy sighed.

Tom lifted his hand and traced the image of a snake with his finger, watching idly as a white outline of a snake came to life in mid air. His boy stared with wide eyes. “Talk to it,” Tom suggested.

“Talk to your snake doodle,” his boy said skeptically.

Tom scoffed. “If you don’t want to be able to speak parseltongue…”

“I can speak it! I just can’t, er, tell when I’m speaking it. Ugh, fine, I’ll speak to your drawing.” His boy stared at it a while and Tom just watched with interest. “ _This isn’t awkward,_ ” his boy finally hissed.

Tom was torn between laughing and rolling his eyes. “ _It worked, at least.”_

 _“Did it? I didn’t notice,”_ his boy continued, still staring at the outline of the snake, which was flailing around in the air.

“ _Tell me something,”_ Tom hissed. _“Anything about yourself, while looking at the snake. Then, don’t stop speaking, but look at me instead. Perhaps that way you will still speak parseltongue while not having to look at a snake._ ”

“ _A poorly drawn snake,”_ his boy hissed quietly.

“ _Excuse me, that is a work of art!_ ”

His boy laughed, breaking eye contact with the snake. The snake faded a little bit while his boy wasn’t looking at it, as if his absence had lessened its existence somehow. Tom wondered if the same would happen to him at the end of the night. But he’d speak to his boy before then, work things out… he wasn’t going to let this be the last night he spent at his boy’s side.

The snake returned to normal as his boy settled and tried again. He seemed at a loss for what to say, which Tom attributed to shyness rather than nothing to tell, before straightening and staring at the snake with purpose.

“ _My parents died when I was a baby,”_ His boy hissed, and Tom stilled completely. “ _My aunt and uncle told me they died in a carriage crash. I’ve been raised by my aunt and uncle ever since. Both, as you can probably guess, are muggles. It makes sense that my parents died in a crash, but…”_ His boy lifted his eyes from the snake’s to Tom’s own. “ _Sometimes I have flashbacks, where all I can see and hear is my mum screaming and lots of green light. I think my mum was begging for her life. That doesn’t describe a carriage crash to me.”_

Tom felt slightly ill; he didn’t want to be the one to tell his boy about the avada kedavra, at least not now. He didn’t want to be the one to tell his boy that he’d most likely seen his parents murdered in front of him.

Tom reached out and held his boy’s hand in his own. His boy was no longer smiling, but he wasn’t frowning either. Tom thought it was only fair if he exchanged equal information.

“ _My mother died right after I was born. She lived just long enough to give me my name. My father employed carers to raise me when he could not due to pressures of the crown. They were muggles. They neglected me, choosing instead to indulge in the privileges that being employed by royalty afforded them. They fed me little, cared for me little, called me a freak when they thought I couldn’t hear and sometimes when they knew I could… So I stole their most precious possessions and hid them away. And I mean most precious- pets, even, I gave to people I knew as ‘gifts’. They told my father, who, upon confronting me, heard of their mistreatment of me. They were fired rather disgracefully. I still have most of those possessions…”_

“ _You don’t want to get rid of them?_ ” his boy questioned with an empathy in his eyes that stirred up protective urges in Tom which he hadn’t known he possessed.

So Tom shook his head. “ _They symbolise a victory over people who sought to mistreat me. Their presence amuses me.”_

His boy nodded and didn’t say anything more, lost in thoughts that made his face unhappy.

“I believe we’ve established that you can speak parseltongue to beings that are not snakes, though it may take more practice to do it at will,” Tom said, returning to the use of English.

His boy blinked, unfocused, and when he focused back on Tom he smiled wryly. “You mean I can speak to _you,_ ” he said.

Tom stretched out on the bench. “I’m the only one worth talking to anyway,” he said. “Though I’d be careful when speaking it around Dumbledore as I’m pretty sure he understands it, despite not being able to speak it. Show off.”

His boy grinned at him and Tom was content to listen to him talk, drinking in every word his boy spoke, while the falling snow around them created a private haven in which they were the only ones that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Feel free to leave a comment and I'll see you all next Sunday!


	9. Gotta Blast!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clock counts down to midnight as Harry tries to keep his two worlds separate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a bit late! I was a tad busy and then Strictly distracted me. :p

Harry was sure that if he continued like this, Tom would know literally everything about him by the time the night was over.

Well, almost everything. Harry had come close, earlier, to speaking about the Dursleys, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to let his two worlds merge together. He wanted to prolong the few hours he had left with Tom and forget that it would all be over by midnight.

And so he talked.

He talked about Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the little he knew about them. He talked about his life long desire for a pet, a companion that understood him like nobody else did (he had to be careful in his wording here as Tom hung on his every word). He talked about how little he knew of the magical world, and how he wanted more than almost anything else to learn more.

Tom talked too, though it was slightly less often and always ended with Tom asking Harry a question or prompting him to say something else. However, it seemed less that Tom wanted to keep himself to himself and more that Tom needed to know everything that he could about Harry, something Harry had never experienced before. Tom talked about Draco Malfoy and how it had taken him months to earn Tom’s favour because he’d originally thought Draco was just a whining child, and his other close friends and retainers Bellatrix and Barty. Tom talked about how he’d recently bought a pet snake who would eventually grow to become giant and called her Nagini.

Tom told him about Quidditch, which made his eyes light up and ask Tom whether he was any good. Tom was not good, but he said he’d be willing to play if Harry was playing too. Harry couldn’t imagine Tom not being good at anything.

As the night went on, Harry found his gaze dropping to Tom’s lips more and more, and thoughts kept entering his head about how handsome Tom looked in the light from the lantern, and then about just how handsome Tom looked. But he tried to brush these thoughts aside; as much as he wanted to believe they had something… more… Tom had sought him out to _avoid_ those wanting a relationship with him. Harry didn’t want to become what Tom despised. He was despised by enough people already.

Besides, he had more pressing matters to focus on, like what on earth he would answer Tom when out of the blue he asked the question:

“Why did you stare so venomously at the large boy when you entered the ballroom?”

Harry would be the first to admit he floundered, but at least the answer was easy enough to fake. “I-I was jealous,” he said, almost like a question. Inwardly he winced at his own flailings.

Tom smirked at him, and for a second Harry thought it was smugness, but then Tom leaned closer and whispered in his ear.

“As much as I’d enjoy it if that were the case… that was a lie.”

Harry swallowed. “I… I um…”

When Tom pulled back again his face wasn’t unkind, simply extremely curious. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable; you don’t have to answer me.” A hint of hurt found its way onto Tom’s face as he said those words, but it was smoothed over quickly. “But you know you don’t have to hide from me.”

Harry closed his eyes and breathed deeply, reaching out to take Tom’s hands in his own. It was difficult to find the words, to acknowledge his cousin in front of Tom, but he wanted to give Tom _something_. Tom’s hands squeezed his in a comforting gesture, and Harry was able to open his eyes again.

“The ‘large boy’,” he started, feeling his lips twitch at how Tom had referred to Dudley. “I know him. He… lives near me. I dislike him.” It was all, technically, the truth. “I saw him standing next to you, staring at you- the thought of you dancing with him still disgusts me. The things I’ve heard him say…” Harry flushed and didn’t continue.

Tom had that contemplating look on his face again. “Say about what?”

Harry couldn’t wait for the subject to change. Talking to Tom about _Dudley_ was just _wrong._ “You,” he answered. His nose wrinkled in distaste. “He’s just like the others. All he wants- ugh.”

“You’re like me,” Tom said firmly. Harry looked up at him, mildly confused. They were alike in quite a few ways, Harry had found. Tom could be referring to anything. “You hate that someone would want to marry for wealth, for status, instead of…” he trailed off, but Harry understood his meaning.

“For love,” he agreed, and Tom’s expression flickered. “For companionship. For respect. For the joy of being with each other.” All things he had found in Tom. Not that he would say it out loud, or he would ruin what they had.

“I wasn’t jealous when I saw you dance with the red-headed girl,” Tom said quietly, almost to himself. “But when I think of it…” Tom’s hands tightened on his own. “I am jealous now.”

Harry blinked in surprise and tried to hide the effect of those words on him and on his fluttering heart. “I didn’t think you’d noticed,” he said weakly.

“I noticed.” Tom’s eyes could have been gazing into Harry’s very core for how piercing they were in that moment. Harry wasn’t scared… but he found himself entranced, wary but exhilarated.

Harry now fought to keep the smirk off of his face. “So you wouldn’t like it if I danced with anyone else, then,” he clarified, eagerly watching Tom’s expression. It darkened possessively, and Tom’s hands began to smooth over Harry’s forearms of their own accord, as if claiming more of Harry’s skin with his touch.

“No,” Tom breathed. Harry tried to memorise his expression.

“You wouldn’t like it it someone else hid me outside, alone in the dark…”

Tom swallowed heavily, and Harry could practically see the ideas form in Tom’s mind. “No,” he breathed again, but this time it was strained.

No-one else had ever been so possessive of Harry. No-one else ever wanted him so badly- ever wanted him _at all_ in fact, not until now. Now, he had Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, who Harry really liked and who (as far as he could tell) really liked him. Now, he had Tom.

But he knew, as much as he wanted to block these thoughts out, that after the night was over he’d go back to the Dursleys. And no-one would ever want him again.

“You wouldn’t like it,” Harry said, softer this time. “If someone took me up to a cosy, secluded balcony where nobody could find us, put their hands on me and let me wear their clothing…” Harry lifted a hand to Tom’s cheek, Tom’s hand still resting on his forearm. Possessiveness was written across every perfect feature of Tom’s face, and Harry drank it in. Harry spoke again before Tom could answer. “Nobody else has ever done that to me. Nobody else is doing that to me, and nobody else will ever do that to me, _except you._ You are the only one, Tom. _The only one._ ”

Tom’s eyes closed at his words, and _Harry did that to him_ \- Harry grinned while Tom couldn’t see him- and Tom’s face softened so delicately, so peacefully that Harry couldn’t help but continue to stare blatantly at his… friend?

What even were they? Tom’s distaste towards finding a partner in these balls would suggest that they were only friends, but the sweet, gentle way that Tom had held him while they danced, the intense possessiveness towards Harry that he’d just induced… Harry had only ever heard of that happening in those squishy romance novels that Aunt Petunia and Dolores Umbridge liked to giggle over.

The aforementioned thoughts of Tom’s handsomeness returned with vigour. His dark eyes were captivating, his brows pointed and expressive as a result of Tom’s constant disdain (not for him, though, not since the first night), his nose shaped perfectly as if from a painting, his cheekbones sharp and flawless while his cheeks were soft to the touch, and his lips...

Those lips. Full. Soft. So close to Harry’s hand. If he moved an inch- but no, he had to resist, because Tom couldn’t want him like that- Harry withdrew his hand to relieve the temptation, still staring at those lips, but Tom reacted to the movement and opened his eyes again.

Harry didn’t snap out of it fast enough, and Tom caught him staring.

“I… er… have no excuse,” Harry said.

Tom’s mouth quirked up in what could have been a smile. “Are you sure you need one?” Tom asked him softly.

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. They’d been comfortable with each other for the whole night, he was aware, but Harry must have been projecting because there was no way Tom was suggesting what Harry thought he was suggesting. But if Tom’s slightly hungry eyes and intensifying expression was anything to go by, he certainly was.

“Tom,” he began, but he didn’t know how to continue.

“I wish I could call you by your name but I don’t know it,” Tom said. He slowly leaned closer to Harry, giving him time to lean backwards if he wanted to. He didn’t.

Harry and Tom’s height difference meant that Harry was now looking up into Tom’s eyes, and they were so close…

“Tom,” he said again, so softly it was like a sigh. Tom’s eyes fluttered closed for a second before fixing on Harry again. “I told you I wasn’t interested in manipulating anyone. There are things I can’t tell you, Tom, but I need you to know that I’m not like you. I’m not rich, I’m not good at magic, and I have absolutely no influence whatsoever. I can’t give you anything more than what you see, and even then, what you see is probably more than I can give you.”

 _What you see is a lie,_ his inner voice said. _I am so much less than this._

Harry watched Tom’s expression carefully as he spoke. It retained its hunger, but it was soft and gentle and things Harry never would have expected from the cold stranger that he’d met two nights ago. “All I want is you,” Tom replied with a small smile. “And perhaps to help you become less self-deprecating. You are worth more than you know.”

Harry wanted to believe it was true, but he couldn’t quite get there. Maybe Tom would show him how.

Tom leaned closer so their lips were almost aligned, and Harry felt his heart beating out of control in his chest. Tom must have felt it too, so close were they, and Harry’s cheeks reddened at the thought.

“I’ve never- never done this… I don’t know… what to do…” Harry trailed off.

“Let me show you,” Tom breathed, closing his eyes and the gap between them. Harry’s eyes closed too, and he felt the ghost of a touch on his lips-

“Potter,” came a drawling voice. Harry and Tom both jerked back from each other, spinning to face the newcomer. His name. The stranger knew his name.

“Draco,” Tom warned, his voice laced with a subtle but dangerous fury that sent chills running down Harry’s spine on Draco’s behalf. “What are you doing here?”

“I need to speak to Potter,” Draco said. He stepped a few feet away, far enough so that Tom wouldn’t hear them when they spoke. Harry, though disappointed by the interruption, was horribly curious as to how Draco could know his last name. Something told him it wasn’t for a good reason.

He glanced at Tom, whose face showed an anger not directed at him. “I can order him away if you like,” Tom said quietly.

Harry bit his lip. “Give me one minute. I’ll be back.” He brushed his hand against Tom’s cheek as he turned away and followed Draco.

“Cute,” Draco commented under his voice when Harry joined him.

Irked, Harry crossed his arms. “What do you want?”

“The Dursleys know you’re here.”

Harry froze in shock. They couldn’t know, he’d hidden his face from everyone on purpose, they thought he was in his cupboard-

“My father told them yesterday, and he’s told them again today that he’s seen you. Don’t ask me why; I don’t know. But if you don’t want them to catch you, you have to leave.”

“How does your father know my aunt and uncle?”

“They have a mutual friend: Umbridge. You really need to leave.”

“Don’t I have any time?”

“They’re preparing to leave already to catch you in the act of disobeying them. You can’t travel the same route as them, you’ll have to go along a different path. It will take longer but if you leave now you might be able to beat them back to your manor- they think you’ll be leaving in half an hour, like you do every night.”

“You… You’ve given this a lot of thought. Why?”

“Does it matter?” Draco snapped, but then he sighed. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m loyal to Tom. I’m doing what he would want me to do if he knew. But you need to leave _now_.”

Harry turned to look at Tom one more time. Something must have shown on his face because Tom stood up, concerned.

 _“Run,"_  Draco said, urgently for the first time, and Harry did.

Tom’s voice called out from behind him but Harry’s breath was so loud in his own ears that he couldn’t hear what Tom was saying. Draco spoke too in response, but Harry couldn’t hear his words either.

He all but collided with the door into the palace. The music blasted in his ears as it opened, and as soon as he entered he knew he had to be more calm. He had to blend in; if the Dursleys saw him he was dead on the spot. But at least he had an advantage over them- one, he knew their plan, and two, _he could see them_ in the crowd, split up from each other for now _._ That was good. It meant he had a small amount of time.

The sudden noise was deafening, and the sheer amount of bodies crammed together dancing to the fast-paced music made Harry overheat quickly, but it managed to inspire an idea in Harry that wasn’t half bad. He discarded his silver dress robe on the floor, knowing it would disappear at midnight anyway, and accepted the nearest invitation to dance.

Faces blurred. Harry switched partners every minute, making his way across the ballroom slower than he would have liked, but inconspicuously.

One time, when he was almost to the door he’d entered through on the first night, his partner refused to let him go, and when he looked, really looked into her face, he saw it was Ginny. She took him aside, radiating concern.

“They know,” Harry said without needing her to ask. “The Dursleys know. Could… could you try to stop them leaving for as long as you can? I need all the time I can get,” he pleaded.

Ginny nodded immediately. “I’ll tell the others,” she said. She hugged him and then disappeared into the crowds. Harry was now close enough to the door that he could hurry out without being noticed.

Harry knew the way out almost instinctually, having been led here by Tom and then navigating the way out again on the first night. His carriage was the only one waiting by the gates. By the time Harry reached it his clothes were damp; the snow had turned into light rain while he was inside the palace.

Briefly, Harry considered going the normal route back home, but he couldn’t risk the Dursleys leaving before Harry anticipated and catching up to him. “There’s another way back other than the one we used to get here. I don’t know it, but since you managed to find your way here I imagine you know that way back too?”

The driver nodded.

“We need to take that route, and we need to do it quickly. As fast as you can. Start now.”

Every journey to the palace and back had been so smooth Harry wasn’t aware of speed. This was different. He stared out of the small window anxiously, the outside turning into dark blurred colours. The rain hammered down, filling the otherwise quiet night with unending wet noise. The carriage kept bumping on the road, shifting Harry a little to the right or a little to the left again and again every few seconds.

It seemed like an eternity in the carriage. Harry’s thoughts kept drifting back to Tom. He wondered what Tom was doing. Was he looking for Harry? Angry at him for leaving? Maybe Draco had told him some lie to appease him. Shaking his head, Harry tried to return his mind to the present. He would have plenty of time to replay their last moments in his head later. In Harry’s fantasies, he would live happily ever after with Tom, as if Harry knew what a happy ending even was. Realistically, Harry just wished he would have said goodbye.

They had come so close… Would it have been different if they had kissed? Harry imagined Tom holding onto him tightly, whispering sweet promises of never letting go… Tom would have protected him from the Dursleys, Harry was almost certain of it, but what if Tom knew who he really was? Just a boy acting as a servant without pay. Practically a slave- or maybe Harry was just being overdramatic, and his encounter with the prince had given him delusions. Life with the Dursleys was all he’d ever known, after all...

When they turned onto a road Harry thought was familiar, something odd started to happen. The bumps on the road got more frequent, and the footman sitting across from Harry began to shrink. It didn’t take Harry long to realise what was happening: the spell was wearing off.

Just a little longer, Harry thought as he crossed his fingers, watching the footman become less human by the second with a sense of impending doom. Privet Manor was visible in the distance when the footman left a butterfly in his wake. The bruise on Harry’s face returned, as did his normal clothes. Harry watched in horror as the carriage gave a jolt- the sides turned orange and grew seeds, and then began to close in on him.

Harry yelled out in panic, forced to curl into himself while the pumpkin returned to its normal size, still hurtling quickly down the road. Harry found himself spinning in the air as the pumpkin bounced and then exploded, unable to contain him.

Harry skidded painfully and rolled on the wet cobblestones. He came to a stop a few feet from the rest of the destroyed pumpkin. Two butterflies settled on him when he didn’t get up.

 _Everything_ hurt when he stood, so slowly, and although he was sure he was bleeding in some places he couldn’t tell because the whole of his body was getting more and more drenched with the rain anyway.

Awareness of time came back to him after he’d been walking slowly, painfully towards the house for a good few minutes. It was past midnight. The Dursleys would be home any minute now. Harry took off in a run, ignoring the various pains and aches intensifying with each step. He reached the front door eventually, and so great was his relief that he didn’t even consider that it would be locked until he tried to open it.

He pounded the door, distantly aware that it would be no use, shuddering as a scared, panicked wave of emotion crashed over him. A flash erupted from his hands. The door swung open. Confused but relieved, he ran in and shut the door behind him, heading straight for the cupboard under the stairs. It was still open from earlier, and he quickly shut himself in.

If only the spell for drying himself off came to him in the same way. Harry was beginning to realise the flaw in his plan; he was drenched and probably bloody. Perhaps the Dursleys wouldn’t look too closely… maybe they would only make sure he was still in his closet…

The clatter of wheels on wet cobblestone sounded, and Harry held his breath as the door swung open for the second time in just minutes. If Harry had been any slower he would have been caught by now, but that didn’t mean he was out of the woods yet.

“Boy!” Came Uncle Vernon’s snarling voice. His loud, angry footsteps got louder and louder until he reached Harry’s cupboard and wrenched the door open. He seemed to attribute the door opening so easily to be a testament to his own strength and not that it wasn’t locked in the first place.

However.

A nasty smile wormed its way onto his Uncle’s face. “You’ve been outside,” Uncle Vernon said with a dangerous calm.

“I… I was in the garden,” Harry improvised feverishly.

“You have cuts and bruises all over. You’re a mess.” Uncle Vernon was beginning to shake with either suppressed anger, suppressed glee, or both. Harry was doing the same with suppressed fear.

“I tripped by the rose bushes... the thorns cut me.”

“You can’t lie your way out of this one, boy.” Uncle Vernon laughed. Harry wanted to be sick. “We have friends who saw you at the ball.”

“You can’t prove it was me. You didn’t see me.” Harry knew it was in vain, but he had to try.

“WE DON’T HAVE TO PROVE IT!” Vernon yelled. He grabbed Harry by the shoulders and shook him. Pain bloomed all over Harry’s body. “We _know_ you were there! I’d believe even a foreign stranger’s word over yours any day of the week, and our source was anything but. You disobeyed us, after we take you in and feed you and clothe you and house you for years! You _deserve_ to be punished, and you know it!”

Harry couldn’t find it within him to reply. His anger warred with his helplessness, reducing him to a state in which he couldn’t move to respond. When Vernon let go of him, his hands came away stained with Harry’s blood.

“You’re to stay in your closet until we decide what to do with you. No meals.” His voice returned to its original calm, but after that Harry knew that it wouldn’t last.

Uncle Vernon left him, shutting the door closed. Harry sunk down onto his small bed, uncomfortably aware that he was getting it wet. It didn’t particularly matter in that moment. He couldn’t help feeling as though he had lost.

Sleep evaded him for hours. Harry spent his time lying awake, and then his time asleep, thinking of Tom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I have a particular fondness for this chapter so I was slightly nervous about posting it. I hope you all enjoyed it. Also, without any spoilers, has anyone else seen Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them? 
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment or make a request on my tumblr (arrowgays since my link doesn't want to work)! See you next Sunday!


	10. in which tom is christian bale's batman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom, after his boy's sudden departure, tries to get some answers.

Tom’s anger shook walls and shattered glass.

If Draco hadn’t fired slowing spells at him he could have caught his boy before he disappeared, but disappear he did. Tom ran to the gates after he’d left Draco unconscious on the wet grass, but there was no trace of his boy to be found apart from his discarded silver cape coat on the floor of the ballroom. 

Nobody could tell him or the guards a single shred of information about his boy. Three people had simply remained silent to the guards, knowing that the guards were accomplished in low level legilimency- being able to tell when someone is lying. Tom now wished he had questioned them instead, but at least their silence betrayed their knowledge. Tom ordered them sent up to his public rooms (as he didn’t trust any of them in his private rooms) along with the limp form of Draco Malfoy.

His father, naturally, was only angry at Tom. While the guests were leaving he and his father’s advisors gathered in the conference room.

“You had one, you actually had one, but you let him slip through your fingers!” His father’s futile anger, of course, was no match for his own; Tom hit the table in frustration and it turned to powder underneath his fingers. 

“I tried to catch him- but I was hindered by Malfoy!”

“Lucius?”

“ _ Draco _ .” 

His father began to argue again but this time Dumbledore stepped forward with a small bow, distracting them both. Tom noticed Grindelwald’s aborted move to stop him with amusement that felt foreign and out of place.

“Emotions are high tonight,” Dumbledore said quite calmly. “I believe shouting will get us nowhere. Would you let me speak to your son alone?” 

There was a heavy pause, but eventually Tom’s father nodded. Everyone filtered out of the room as quickly as they possibly could, leaving Tom and Dumbledore alone in a matter of seconds. 

“You’re angry,” Dumbledore noted.

“You’re annoyingly calm,” Tom replied. 

“What is that?” Dumbledore asked, pointing to Tom’s left hand. Tom presented the cape coat he hadn’t let go of since he picked it up. Dumbledore had his thinking face on. “It belonged to the young man you were dancing with, did it not?”

Tom nodded.

“Can you tell me his name?” 

Silence.

“Maybe he left it as a clue.” 

At this Tom laughed, a cold sound that hurt his own throat. “A clue to  _ what? _ ” Tom began to say, but then two things happened at once: the ornate grandfather clock in the room chimed twelve, and the cape coat vanished into thin air. Tom only stared. 

“Well now, that  _ is  _ curious,” Dumbledore mused. Tom grit his teeth to stop from snapping at the old man. “What happened right before he left?” 

“We were sitting down,” Tom said slowly, painfully so. “We were… talking… but then we were interrupted. Draco pulled him aside and said something to him, and then suddenly he ran away. I tried to follow him but-”

“What was the time when he ran away?” Dumbledore cut in easily. 

“I don’t know!” Tom snapped, but at Dumbledore’s patient expression he attempted to calm himself and answer the question. As much as Dumbledore grated on Tom’s nerves, he was trying to help. “It was less than an hour ago I imagine,” Tom sighed. “Perhaps half that.” 

Dumbledore nodded as if this was the answer he was looking for. “He left at about this time on both other days, correct?” 

Tom frowned. “A little bit later, actually, but yes.” 

“Maybe Mister Malfoy was simply informing him of the time, knowing that he would have to leave soon. You  _ were  _ both in the garden. Rather difficult to tell the time out there without a clock.”

“And he had to leave so quickly he didn’t even say goodbye?!” Tom’s voice cracked finally, and he summoned all of his anger like a shield to stop himself from breaking down. When he looked up at Dumbledore again his face showed an understanding that made Tom deeply uncomfortable. “He ran,” Tom added, defensive to his own ears. 

“Why are you so angry, Tom?” 

“Because he’s gone, and I couldn’t stop him,” Tom gritted out.

“That’s not right. He is gone, and you couldn’t stop him, but that doesn’t make you feel angry. How  _ does  _ it make you feel?” 

Tom refused to answer, closing his eyes and concentrating to keep from exploding. 

“Sad? Lonely? Desperate?” 

“ _ Shut up! _ ” Tom hissed, breaking concentration. A mirror shattered behind Dumbledore, releasing some of Tom’s turbulent energy, but Dumbledore didn’t even flinch.

“You need to let go of your anger and be honest with yourself, like you were being honest when I passed you earlier this night. Let yourself feel what you truly feel.”

Tom sneered unpleasantly. “If you’re about to preach to me about the  _ power of love- _ ” 

He froze. Somehow, forming the word stopped him in his tracks and filled him with shame for saying it so flippantly. It was no longer a word which Tom could find it within himself to mock.

Did he love his boy?

Dumbledore was smiling. “Tom,” he said gently. “There are four children waiting for you. Speak to them and see if they can give you the answers you seek.”   

Dumbledore waited for Tom to leave the room before following him out. Tom headed straight for his public rooms without preamble and he didn’t hear Dumbledore follow him. Indeed, he was quite alone when he reached the door. When he opened it everyone inside jumped.

“Draco, I see you’re awake,” he said as he strode in, the door closing behind him at his silent instruction. Draco nodded as a small bow, his expression carefully blank but his pallid complexion giving away his well-justified fear.

Draco and the three others were sitting on the long, elegant chaise that was really the centrepiece of the room. Two guards stood at opposite ends of the room. “Leave,” he told them shortly, and they did. 

“I don’t know you,” he addressed the three others, which was sort of a lie. The two gingers were obviously Weasley children, the younger girl wary and the older boy quivering but defiant. The other girl must have been the ‘Granger’ Draco had spoken of the night before, but otherwise her slick brown hair and plain face were anonymous to him. This one’s eyes held sharp intelligence, and she too had an air of fear mixed with stubbornness that her pale face only exaggerated. 

Tom had seen these people with his boy on the second night. They were friends with him. They would give Tom answers.

“I’m Hermione Granger.” The brown-haired girl broke the silence, standing only to curtsey and prompting the other two to follow suit.

“Ron Weasley.”

“Ginny Weasley.” 

Tom nodded to them all in turn. “You’re all here because you know things that I don’t, about the boy in silver who fled earlier tonight.” he said. “You are going to tell me these things.”

“ _ We won’t! _ ” Granger blurted, prompting a ‘shut up’ from one of the Weasleys. 

Tom raised an eyebrow at them, but there were no more objections. “First: what is his name?” He aimed the question mainly at Draco, who had addressed his boy as ‘Potter’ earlier. 

However, it was not him that answered “Harry Potter,” but the Weasley girl. The other two looked at her with scandalised expressions. Draco was quietly amused. 

“Why was he able to tell you his name but not me?”

The other two rushed to quiet the Weasley girl before she spoke, but she batted them away with the ease of someone used to being pestered by siblings. “He wasn’t. He didn’t tell any of us. I worked out who he was because his parents had been friends with my parents, and then I told Ron and Hermione.”

Unfortunately this meant Tom was no closer to finding out who had scarred his boy on the hand. “And you, Draco? How did you know his name?”

“My father knows,” Draco answered. The Weasley girl whipped around to stare at Draco with some surprise and then sudden understanding. Tom itched to ask her why, but they had plenty of time. He had to remain in control of the conversation. He would ask later. 

Tom took a second to get used to the name ‘Harry’ in his head before he spoke it out loud. “Harry dropped a piece of clothing behind him, but when the clock struck twelve it vanished. Why?” Tom deliberately stopped himself from asking the most important question.They wouldn’t answer it yet. 

Granger and the Weasley girl both stared at the Weasley boy for different reasons. Clearly he knew something but neither he nor Granger wanted to tell Tom. 

Tom sighed, but otherwise he felt he hid his impatience rather well.

“Why are the both of you so reluctant to answer my questions? You realise that you are speaking to the Crown Prince, yes?” It was as much a threat as they interpreted it.

The Weasley boy glowered. “If you want to hurt Harry you’ll have to go through us!” he said fiercely. Tom stared at him, bemused. 

The Weasley girl hit her brother on the back of the head. Draco even snorted. “What did you  _ tell  _ them?” he drawled incredulously. 

“I…” The Weasley girl seemed to be lost for words for a moment, and then she shook her head, frustrated. “The Prince doesn’t want to hurt Harry! Just tell him what you know so we can go home,” she said. 

The Weasley boy was clearly still wary, but he did eventually answer. “Harry said his clothes were made by his house-elf.”

“There, was that so hard?” The Weasley girl said coolly, which her brother ignored. “But it couldn’t have been  _ his _ house-elf, Ron, his family are muggles.” 

“Then whose-” Tom started, but he was cut off by Draco, who gave a sharp laugh.

“It was my house-elf,” Draco said bitterly. “Or should I say, my former house-elf. The one Potter set free, and the reason why my father wanted revenge on him.” 

Tom had the strange feeling that they were getting more answers from his questioning than he was. “ _ What  _ are you all talking about?” 

Draco seemed to have said all he intended to. He leaned back on the chaise, pretending to be uninterested but obviously (to Tom) paying attention to the other three. Surprisingly, it was Granger who answered him. 

“Harry came alone on all three nights. I thought it was because his parents couldn’t make it here, but it was actually because… his guardians didn’t want him to come?” Granger seemed to be working it out as she told it, and Tom watched her, mildly impressed. Mildly. “Yesterday we helped him set the Malfoy house-elf free after we saw Lucius Malfoy hit him with his cane. I don’t know about Ron, but  _ I  _ thought Harry wanted to free him because of SPEW...” Granger reddened.

“Spew?” Tom asked. 

“Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare,” Granger said, blushing profusely. “I founded it.”

Tom nodded for her to go on.

“Erm… anyway… I thought that, but looking back Harry must have wanted to free Dobby beforehand, because he knew the Malfoy name already and he also knew a bit about freeing elves before talking to us about it.

“We didn’t see him after you took him away until tonight when he was trying to leave as quickly as possible. Ginny told us to stop three people from leaving- one each- I assumed they were yours because I only saw one of them, and Harry seemed like he was running away from you. Now, though, I imagine they were probably-”

“His family,” Tom finished, putting the pieces together himself. “He wanted to leave before they caught him at the ball when they’d told him he couldn’t come.” 

At their agreeable faces, Tom felt no small amount of relief wash through him. In that case it was only a matter of finding out where Harry lived, or worst case scenario publicly invite him back to the palace and wait for Harry to come to him.  

“You can’t invite him back to the palace,” Draco said suddenly, as if reading his thoughts. Everyone stared at him. Ron even looked like he wanted to argue, but Tom held a hand up to silence him. Draco continued. “It’ll be too obvious. There must be a reason why they didn’t want Potter to come to the ball even though he was invited. If they didn’t let him go when he was invited the first three times, why would they let him go a forth?” 

Draco knew something that he wasn’t letting on. Tom narrowed his eyes, but didn’t confront him here in the presence of the three almost-strangers.

“Do any of you know where he lives?” Tom asked finally. They all shook their heads. “Then that is all. You three can go. If I have any more questions I’ll request your presence again, but not tonight. Draco, you stay. Oh, and Granger?”

Granger stopped halfway across the room, meeting Tom’s eyes with uncertainty. 

“Perhaps sometime soon we can make an appointment… so we can discuss SPEW in a bit more detail.”

Granger hid a delighted smile behind her mouth as she and the Weasleys left the room. Tom watched them go; the Weasley girl, Ginny, gave him a small wave as she closed the door behind them. 

“What is it,” Tom said monotonously as soon as the door was shut. 

Draco wore a mask of indifference, but there was something decidedly off about it. “You’ll find out when you meet him again,” Draco said. “But be prepared for a surprise.” Draco turned to leave but Tom grabbed him by the arm, stopping him in his tracks. 

“No. You were so desperate to explain yourself earlier. Now I’m listening.” 

Draco’s jaw flexed, an indication of his distress. “What do you want to know?” 

“What exactly did you say to make him run?”

“I told him that his family knows he was here, and that if he wanted to get home without being caught he’d have to leave immediately.” 

“But he  _ ran.  _ And he didn’t…” Say goodbye. 

“Look, I don’t…” Draco grimaced. “Father’s going to kill me for helping him. Okay, I don’t know the extent, but listen. My father wanted revenge for Potter tricking him into  _ freeing our house-elf  _ in public. And he tells Potter’s family that he’s here at the ball? Punishment doesn’t really fit the crime, does it? That’s too lenient for my father. Unless… well, unless it  _ does  _ fit the crime… and I wonder, if Dobby made his clothes for him, what else Dobby might have done to disguise him.”

Unable to look Tom in the eye, Draco disapparated out of the room, leaving Tom on his own.

Draco’s words instilled a certain trepidation in Tom, a  _ something’s wrong here  _ feeling, but it only made him more determined to find his boy, his Harry. 

He was about to apparate out too, when a hesitant knock on the door stopped him.

“Enter,” he said, irritated at the interruption. However, it was the Weasley girl who came inside.

“Um. Prince Tom?” The Weasley girl said. Tom raised an eyebrow to indicate that she should continue. “I forgot to mention- I don’t know if Malfoy told you. Harry is, well, scared of his family. I don’t quite know how bad it is, but he hid from them on the first night and he seemed desperately afraid tonight when he was rushing home. Has he mentioned his family to you?” 

Tom thought back to all of their conversations. “He’s mentioned that his parents are dead. And that he set a snake on his cousin. And that he lives with his aunt and uncle.”

The Weasley girl nodded. “The Dursleys, they’re called. But they’re muggles so you won’t find them on the floo network or anything.”

“In that case I’ll have to find him the old fashioned way.”

“Good luck,” the Weasley girl said, and then slipped out of the door. 

Well, that was… foreboding. Tom didn’t want to believe that Harry lived in bad household but Draco and Weasley’s warnings gave the impression that Harry had reason to fear his family. The sooner Tom found him the better. He didn’t know just when his feelings had turned from a desire to solve a puzzle to (love?) a need to have his boy by his side and protect his boy from harm, but turn they had.

Tom apparated outside of his father’s private chambers, knocking loudly and hearing footsteps on the other side. 

He had his Harry to find. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed this chapter and a hint of what is to come. Have many of you signed up for the tomarry secret santa? As always feel free to leave a comment and I'll see you next Sunday!


	11. Gotta Blast! pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is still trapped in the cupboard. The Dursleys receive a letter.

Harry had a cold when he woke up the next morning. It was highly unpleasant until the memories of the night before flooded him, and suddenly he was wide awake. The cold was now a minor inconvenience.

There was a little bit of light, at least, from the latch in the door. Harry was a little surprised- it was the longest he’d slept in since… well, probably since his parents had died. The Dursleys wouldn’t starve themselves to punish him, so Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon must be able to cook after all. Harry couldn’t explain why, but the thought made him angry in a way it wouldn’t have done if he knew they could cook a week ago.

… It was weird having nothing to do.

Though he had always wished to be somewhere else, in his fantasies he was still _doing_ something, just not something he was forced to do by people who hated him. Even in the ball he had something to do, be it talk, touch, or just observe… and Tom really _had_ been someone to observe…

Harry missed Tom, he realised. He missed Tom even despite the fact that they’d only shared a very short time together. He just couldn’t do anything about it.

Harry was taken out of his thoughts by a sharp rap at the front door. He threw off the sheet, noticing out of the corner of his eye Tom’s sock that he’d fallen asleep clutching for comfort. He pressed his face close to the latch to try to see out of it but all he ended up doing was hissing in pain as he aggravated a cut on his face. Harry made a mental note to check himself and his injuries later.

“Good morning, sir,” A muffled voice was saying. “It’s just a royal announcement, normal post isn’t being delivered until a little later. Good day!”

“Royal announce-” Uncle Vernon paused. “ _Petunia!_ ”

Harry wondered what kind of announcement would startle Uncle Vernon so badly. Maybe it was another ball, he thought wryly.

Quick footsteps echoed to his ears; Aunt Petunia had arrived. “Oh, what is it, Vernon?! Preparing lunch isn’t just as easy as pie, you know.”

Uncle Vernon didn’t even have it in him to pretend to laugh his wife’s pun. Paper ruffled, and then Aunt Petunia let out a shriek. Harry’s ears didn’t thank her for it.

“V-V-Vernon, it was him! At the ball! With the Prince!” Aunt Petunia cried.

“I won’t believe it… nobody could fall for that worthless excuse of a boy… must be somebody else with a lightning scar…” But Vernon had called Petunia in, so he obviously believed it. Harry, on the other hand, was finding it difficult to believe that there was a royal announcement that mentioned  _him_.

‘Fall for,’ Uncle Vernon had said. But the announcement couldn’t have said that Tom had fallen for Harry. He was more inclined to believe Vernon’s theory about the lightning scar, honestly. But who else had spent more time with Tom so that there needed to be an _announcement?_ But that was selfish of Harry, wasn’t it? He didn’t _own_ Tom or his time, and Tom must have met more people than just Harry. But Vernon had said _lightning scar..._

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had moved out of earshot while Harry had been arguing with himself, and with nothing else to do, Harry decided it was as good a time as ever to see what damage he had inflicted on himself in vain when racing home. He reached under his bed and brought out a piece of cloth wrapped around a large jagged piece of a mirror Harry had kept when cleaning up a broken one years ago. Harry remembered that particular incident with perfect clarity, even more so than his other violent episodes with the Dursleys. In fact, he still had the scars on his lower back from the punishment Vernon had given him for breaking the mirror.

He carefully unwrapped it the piece, hand clutching it through the fabric, and stared at himself. He had cuts practically _everywhere,_ and, to both his dismay and amusement, pieces of pumpkin stuck in his hair and clothes. His black eye from days ago was there again, purple slowly turning green-yellow.

“So,” came a voice from right outside the door. Harry jumped and barely managed not to stab himself with the sharp mirror.

Dudley had sneaked up on him, a surprising feat considering Dudley’s weight and Harry’s general jumpiness.

“Morning Dudley,” Harry replied after a silence.

“So. You’re him.”

“I am me, yes.”

“You’re the one who danced with the Prince.”

“Plenty of people danced with the Prince,” Harry replied evenly. “But I was one of them, yes.”

“I heard Mum and Dad. You were the one in silver. It would have been me dancing with him if you had stayed home like you were supposed to.”

“I doubt Tom would have danced with you anyway,” said Harry casually. “I think he prefers people who don’t look like they’ve stuffed their head down the toilet.”

With a shout of anger, Dudley wrenched the door open, actually breaking the new lock. He yanked Harry out of the cupboard with a punishing grip and threw him to the floor.

Now, Harry could see that Dudley brought his stick with him. He couldn’t avoid the first swing and it caught his jaw. However, he blocked the second with his arm and pushed himself off of the floor. Dudley lunged at him with the stick, and Harry thrust both of his arms in front of him to protect himself.

Dudley cried out in pain at the same time as Harry, whose knees buckled at the force of Dudley’s lunge.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon came running in at Dudley’s shout- whether this one or the earlier one Harry didn’t know. Immediately they began to fuss over Dudley, and it wasn’t until Uncle Vernon stood and advanced on Harry that he saw why; when Dudley lunged at him, Harry had managed to nick Dudley’s cheek with the mirror. It had a tiny sliver of blood on it that was extremely difficult to notice, and the cut itself was minor at best. But Dudley was Dudley, and molehills were mountains.

Uncle Vernon batted Harry’s hand away and the mirror piece smashed on the tile floor. Harry couldn’t help his survival instincts; he ran.

Going out the front door was unthinkable- a death sentence. Instead Harry sped up the stairs, taking them two at a time, something Uncle Vernon would have found impossible.

“GET BACK HERE, BOY!” Vernon yelled, too close for comfort.

Harry scrambled down the long first floor hallway. He was far faster than Vernon, but that wouldn’t mean anything if he backed himself into a corner. What was he even doing? He would have to face punishment eventually…

He ducked inside a doorway just as a decorative jar smashed into the space where his head was only a second ago.

Harry probably knew the manor better than the Dursleys did, having had to clean every nook and cranny of it several times a month at least. Harry knew, better than Uncle Vernon, that there was practically no-where he could hide. He still did, though. He hid behind the harpsichord in that room, and less than a minute later Vernon followed him in and stopped. However, it was only a matter of time before Vernon found him.

It was for this reason that Harry was astounded when Vernon’s footsteps receded. He held his breath, shocked at managing to avoid his uncle. So shocked, in fact, that he didn’t move fast enough to silence a cold-induced sneeze that drew Vernon’s footsteps quickly back in his direction.

“POTTER!” Vernon bellowed, reentering the room. Harry stood, the harpsichord between him and Vernon. Vernon was red-faced with rage, blocking the door and Harry’s only way out. Harry was torn between surrender and survival- he had lost, but he didn’t want to know what Vernon would do to him when he admitted it.

Vernon stormed across the room towards Harry, forcing him to move in order to keep the harpsichord between them. Unfortunately Harry hadn’t kept in mind that Vernon was still much larger than Harry, and one misstep on Harry’s part walked his throat right into Vernon’s waiting fist.

Or it would have, if there wasn’t suddenly a rush of wind. Harry blinked and looked around. He was no longer in the same room, now in a passageway Harry knew to be intended for servants as he’d used it before. Harry could still hear Uncle Vernon shouting at him, but there was now a wall between them.

He’d somehow used magic again. It reminded Harry of one time he’d been running from Dudley and his friends in school (when he had still gone to school). One minute he’d been racing away, and the next he’d been on the roof of the school. Well, that cleared that mystery up at least- he’d managed to magic himself away from Dudley, just as he’d done with Uncle Vernon.

Harry tiptoed down the passageway, absentmindedly rubbing at his sore jaw. Each one of these passageways, four in total, led back to the kitchen, and this was where Harry went. Aunt Petunia’s leftovers from breakfast were on the counter, and after making sure that no-one was around, Harry crept out from behind the china closet and stole some of the leftovers.

Harry hadn’t realised how hungry he was until he ate, and found that he easily devoured everything Petunia had left out. Harry washed his hands with a mild feeling of guilt, but he ignored it and turned around to hide away in the servant’s passage again. However, something caught his eye through the open door to the dining room.

An envelope lay on the table, open, with its contents placed carelessly on top of it. It must be the royal announcement from earlier, Harry realised, and he crept towards the door with a damning curiosity.

The room was quiet; no-one was there but Harry.

He ran to the table, picking the letter up and scanning the words.

_To the Dursley Residence,_

_We thank you for your attendance at the royal balls and hope you had a wonderful time._

_Prince Tom wishes to invite an important guest of his back to the palace, but the name of this guest will not be disclosed for reasons privy only to those closest to the Prince. Unfortunately the Royal Family does not know the address that the guest lives at, and we fear that extenuating circumstances means that a more direct approach to the matter is required. Therefore, a collection of guards and the Prince’s most loyal retainer are visiting every house in Hogwarts until they find this guest, a boy with black hair and a lightning scar. Again, further details are restricted from public knowledge, however we feel that this information is enough to identify our guest._

_We understand that this may disrupt our citizens’ daily activities and we apologise for the inconvenience. We also must request that if you know this boy or if he belongs to your family, you inform him that he is invited to the palace. The disruption will only last until the boy is found or finds us first; it is in the interest of the public to help us find this boy._

_Yours faithfully,_

_The Riddle Family_

Harry dropped the letter. A weird feeling was blossoming in his stomach. He could… go. This was his way out.

He’d never tried to escape before because he had nowhere to go, but _now_ , now he did, and he could leave and see Tom again-

“ _Hem hem._ ”

Harry froze.

“There you are,” came a high, simpering voice.

Harry turned to look at the speaker. Wearing pink as usual, Dolores stood in the doorway with a toad-like smile plastered on her face. Harry felt like he’d just been submerged in ice, and he couldn’t tell whether it was his own fear or a spell that Dolores had cast on him, for he knew she _must_ be magic.

“I came as soon as I heard there was trouble,” Dolores said pleasantly, which Harry took to mean she was waiting eagerly for another opportunity to screw him over.

“Just let me go,” Harry said. “Let me go and you’ll never have to hear from me again. I know you hate me- I won’t bother you ever again.”

Dolores’ smile widened to an evil grin. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon entered the room behind Dolores, looking somewhat out of breath but triumphant all the same.

“Back in the cupboard-” Petunia began shrilly, but Dolores shook her head.

“He’s already been in the cupboard, and look how that’s turned out… and it will be too easy for the royal guards to find him there anyway… Petunia, do you have an attic?”

And so Harry was moved to the ‘attic’, among Dudley’s old clothes and family heirlooms too ugly to be displayed downstairs. Harry had never been up here before because he had never been ordered to clean it; this was a weird room only accessible from the garden, and none of the Dursleys ever used it.

“ _Why_ would you go to all this effort to keep me here?” Harry exclaimed as Vernon manhandled him into the room. Petunia had come to watch, but Dolores had gone to speak to Dudley. “I’ll just _magic_ my way out of here too, you’ll see.”

Petunia actually laughed. “That was an accident and you know it,” she sneered, but Harry could see the fear that lurked behind her eyes at the idea.

“So it doesn’t surprise you, then? You _knew-_ about magic? About witches and wizards? That _I’m_ one?” Harry said.

“Knew!” Petunia shrieked, and even Vernon flinched at the sound. “Of course we knew! How could you not be- a _freak_ like my dratted sister was! It was always _Lily_ this, and _Lily_ that with my parents. Well, we didn’t make that mistake with you. No special treatment for the freak in this household!”

Harry stared at Petunia and her somewhat crazed expression. It was strange and slightly disturbing to know that he was the equivalent to Petunia in this situation, though he hoped Petunia’s parents hadn’t treated her like Petunia treated him.

"Then she met that Potter at school,” Petunia continued ranting, “and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as- as- _abnormal_ \- and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!"

Harry had gone very white. "Blown up?” he said quietly, hit with the realisation that the dreams he had of green light and his mother’s voice were not just dreams. “You told me they died in a crash," he said, his calm voice giving away almost none of the red hot anger broiling inside him at the knowledge that he’d been lied to for his entire goddamn life.

Aunt Petunia, too, had gone pale. Was she thinking about her sister? Had she heard her sister begging for her life, and for Harry’s? Was she glad that Harry’s mother was dead, or did Petunia actually miss her behind the insults and the abuse?

Uncle Vernon, meanwhile, was glaring at Harry, and he took the silence as an opportunity. “Listen here, boy,” he snarled. “You’re not leaving this attic until all these funny ideas about magic are out of your bloody head, and when they do all of this royal nonsense will have died down, and you’ll be _grateful_ that you get to serve us, respectable and normal-” Vernon froze, as if something had suddenly occurred to him.

Vernon turned to Petunia, who was looking back at Vernon with a confused expression similar to Harry’s. Vernon turned back to Harry with a suspicious glint in his eye. “How do _you_ know about _witches_ and _wizards_?” he spoke the words as if they brought with them a particularly nasty smell.

Harry considered going for a lie, but there was really no point. “Tom- Prince Tom, that is- told me.”

Aunt Petunia gasped in horror. “The _prince_ ! Oh Vernon, Dudley almost seduced one of _them_!” She cried, as if Tom wouldn’t have seen right through Dudley in a heartbeat.

“That settles it,” Uncle Vernon said. “When all of this nonsense with the prince and with your… _freakishness…_ blows over, we’ll _consider_ letting you out. Until then… enjoy the attic. If you want something to do, you can clean it. It doesn’t matter. Nobody but us will find you here.”

And then, Vernon left, pulling Petunia along after him. The door shut with an air of finality about it, and there was a scratching and then a locking and then silence.

Bars soon found themselves attached to the attic’s single window, though the Dursleys had enough sense to make them discreet to avoid unwanted attention. Uncle Vernon installed a makeshift cat-flap in the attic door so that Aunt Petunia could slip through scraps of food at different times of the day. She seemed to realise that there was no point in wasting food she had cooked, and this was the one positive thing Harry experienced among all of the negatives.

Harry tried to use magic, he really did, but he felt without Tom and without _hope_ his efforts were useless- Aunt Petunia was right, all of his other magic had been accidental. The best he ever managed was to make the bars on his window see-through, and that was after ages of being annoyed that the only light coming into the room was a spotlight on the floor marred with lines.

Sometimes they let him out to use the toilet or bath for a _very_ small amount of time, and every time one of them opened the door Harry felt a surge of hope that was immediately crushed.

He did nothing for he had nothing to do- he tried to clean a little bit, but found no motivation nor anything to clean _with_. Harry watched the days pass him with agonising boredom and prayed that sometime soon, something would change.

* * *

 

A few days had passed when Dobby appeared with a crack before him, and Harry was on his feet immediately (swaying slightly against the black spots that temporarily blotted his vision). But his joyous smile fell immediately at the regretful expression on Dobby’s face.

Harry stared at Dobby for a moment. Dobby didn’t move. “You didn’t come to rescue me.” It wasn’t a question.

Dobby shook his head, and clearly chose his next words carefully. “Harry Potter is safest here for now, I’m afraid,” he said, but Harry was filled with rage in an instant.

“ _Safe!_ ” he spat. “ _Safe here?_ With _them?_ ” He ran his fingers through his own hair frantically and started to laugh, a hollow laugh filled with no mirth whatsoever. It was nothing like the last time he’d laughed. When he’d laughed with Tom.

Harry sunk back down to the floor, suddenly devoid of energy once again. Part of him craved that sweet anger again.

“Why did you come, then?” Harry said, his voice quiet and tired and strained. He didn’t mean to lash out at Dobby, but… he couldn’t be bothered to finish that sentence. Half-thoughts of justifications that Harry was unworthy of dangled just out of reach of Harry’s conscious mind. What he would do to get out of this room, if only he hadn’t been so stupid, if only he’d been faster, if only, if only.

Maybe if he hadn’t given himself hope in the first place he wouldn’t have been so dejected when he realised the flaws in his fantasy. Maybe if he hadn’t met Tom. Maybe if he hadn’t gone to the ball-

The anger was back, but this time it was self-directed. _No_ , he thought fiercely. The Dursleys could take almost anything from him, but they couldn’t take his three nights at the ball. They couldn’t take away how they had made him feel, how _Tom_ made him feel. Dobby had given him such a blessing when he’d revealed himself to Harry the week before.

Dobby had caught Harry off-guard, appearing in the attic, but now as Dobby just stood there watching him, Harry’s previous thoughts returned to him.

Harry had had a very long time to sit and think. And right in that moment, there was one question that Harry wanted the answer to more than the others.

“How did you know about me?”

“Sir?”

Harry gestured to himself, as if that would make his question any clearer. “How did you find me, the first time? How did you know to? Why me?”

_Why me._

“Master- my old Master- never thought me capable of much more than following orders, sir.” Dobby practically tripped over his own words to answer Harry. “He had tea with a Dolores Umbridge often while I was serving them, and it was from her that Dobby found out about Harry Potter.”

That made… a bit of sense, actually. Lucius Malfoy had told the Dursleys about him remarkably quickly- far too quickly for someone who hadn’t already known about Harry and his less than desirable relationship with his relatives. Because of Umbridge, Malfoy would immediately know that exposing Harry to the Dursleys would be a devastating blow, even if the effects had been delayed.

“Why did you come?” Harry said, repeating his earlier unanswered question.

Dobby gave him a weak smile. “Harry Potter is safest here for now, until the prince comes for you. And he _is_ coming for you, Harry Potter.”

A snap of his fingers and most of the lingering pain in Harry’s body abated. Dobby disappeared with another crack, leaving Harry once again alone.

But this time, he had hope. And it was the most that he’d had in days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Feel free to leave a comment and I'll see you all next Sunday! 
> 
> p.s. Has anyone seen Moana?


	12. meet the family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom dislikes Quidditch, but is a 'seeker' nonetheless.

On the best of days, Tom found socialising a chore. This was not the best of days.

He clung to his anonymity under the half-mask and uniform of the guards, but this meant that citizens were extremely informal speaking to him and he was expected to be extremely informal back. Tom craved Harry’s presence more and more as the days went by, not least because it would mean he didn’t have to do _this_ ever again.

With a new house visited came another young boy with a drawn on scar on his forehead, and as soon as Tom was able he signalled to Barty that this, too, was not the right house. They got through a long list of residences each day, but the ones they had yet to reach created a list longer still.

Draco practically had a meltdown when he saw the announcement Tom sent out, but how else could he describe Harry publically? He wanted Harry to know Tom was looking for him. If Harry went to the palace instead of waiting for Tom- and Tom couldn’t see a reason he wouldn’t willingly do so- the process would be so much faster.

Of course there was the _other_ problem that both Draco and the Weasley girl had brought up, which was partly why Tom was here himself looking for Harry. They were only visiting muggle residences, and also bypassing houses that were clearly poor (Harry had mentioned a manor after all) but even so the search was taking up _so much_ time. It was extremely difficult to control himself and block out the _what-if?_ s about what could have happened at the ball and what could be happening to Harry now.

It was at least a week after Tom had seen Harry last when their party visited the Dursley residence. And while the name snapped Tom to attention, they had already visited two other ‘Dursley’s, so it wasn’t certain or even likely that this was the right house.

Their manor was pretty normal-looking compared to the others on their long, spaced out street, and to Tom’s relief no-one else on their street had pretended to be his boy out of a desire for normalcy over inevitable embarrassment. Tom expected this house to be similar and looked forward to a speedy continuation of their search.

Tom and the other guards stood back as Barty knocked on the door.

It opened to reveal a large middle-aged man with a big mustache and a face unused to smiling. “Come in, come in,” said the man- Mr Dursley, Tom assumed- and waved them inside the large blue foyer. “You’re here to see my boy Dudley, are you?”

Tom shared a long-suffering look with Barty when Mr Dursley was turned away before Barty nodded, putting on a strained smile.

Mr Dursley led their group into a tidy living room where two women were already sat drinking tea. One of them was skinny and anxious-looking, presumably Mrs Dursley. The other was... Dolores Umbridge. Tom subtly put himself behind some of the other guards; while he didn’t particularly care if Umbridge recognised him, if there was something off he didn’t want to give himself away.

“Keep an eye on Umbridge,” he whispered near-silently to the closest guard. He took the slight head nod for an affirmation.

“Dudley!” Mr Dursley exclaimed proudly as a large boy entered the room- the large boy that had asked him to dance. The one Harry had looked at with such loathing… Tom frowned.

Dudley Dursley lifted his fringe in front of Barty, showing the absence of a scar. Dudley’s eyes fell upon Tom and widened. Then Dudley all but fled from the room.

“Thank you for your co-operation,” Barty began, but Tom nudged the guard next to him, who cleared his throat so Tom didn’t have to draw attention to himself. “I hate to take advantage of your generous hospitality,” Barty improvised quickly, “but could you spare some water for my men? We’ve been travelling for a long time without break. We’d only be a few minutes.”

“O-of course,” Mr Dursley stammered, obviously not expecting the request. “Right this way.”

“Quite a lot of guards for just a retainer,” Umbridge commented to Mrs Dursley as Mr Dursley turned to leave. Mrs Dursley nodded timidly, and it gave Tom a mean satisfaction. If Umbridge was warning this family that Tom might be here, it meant that there was something to be hidden from him. Something… or someone.

Tom fell into step with Barty as they followed Mr Dursley from the room. “Something’s off,” Tom muttered to Barty. “Harry’s close… I can feel it.”

Barty nodded. “I can order a search of the house, say it’s standard procedure,” he suggested.

“I want to ask the son first, in case he’ll save us the effort,” Tom said. Barty looked skeptical but didn’t argue.

Luckily for them, Dudley was already in the large bright dining room when they entered. Wide-eyed with alarm, he tried to make a quick exit, but as he reached the door Barty stopped him smoothly and practically handed him to Tom.

“W-what do you want?” Dudley asked quietly, gaze continuously sliding to the small door below the staircase. Tom observed him closely. He looked as if he was trying to put on a tough facade, but he was pale and sweating, giving away his nervousness. He also, interestingly, had a small cut on his face that hadn’t been there a week ago.

“Who gave you that?” Tom asked, nodding at the cut.  

Dudley went even paler, though Tom hadn’t thought it possible. “No-one,” he said, convincing exactly no-one.

Tom had to clench his fist to stop himself from expressing his sudden anger in more destructive ways. Usually he was more controlled than this, but this was not a usual occurrence. “Where is he,” he gritted out, forgoing subtleties. “Where is Harry?”

Dudley shook his head. “Not here! He’s not here!” Before Tom could stop him, Dudley ran from the room again. Tom stared after him with distaste; Not only was he hindering Tom, but Tom had looked into his eyes. Dudley had lied.

Tom glanced curiously at the door Dudley had kept stealing looks at. On impulse, Tom strode over and pulled it open, almost expecting Harry to be inside… but it was just a room for spare objects, obviously not used often as there were cobwebs everywhere and old broken things, even a ratty spare bed that looked fit for a child half of Dudley or Harry’s age.

Except there was a sliver of colour underneath a sheet that covered the bed. Tom pulled the sheet away to find a green sock; the sock Tom had given Harry on the second night, Tom was _sure_ of it. He left the sock where it was and reentered the dining room. Harry was _here,_ and there was _proof._

Tom met Barty’s eyes from across the room. Barty set his glass down and spoke to Mr Dursley in a calm, authoritative manner that Tom might not have managed in this moment. “We’re just about to do a search of the house,” Barty said. Mr Dursley’s eyes bulged, and Tom almost felt vindicated. “Please remain calm, it will only take a short while. We’ve done it at every house, it’s just to be thorough.”

The guards dispersed. Only Tom and Barty remained where they were, Tom finally removing the half-mask. Tom didn’t want to be at another end of the house when a guard brought Harry back here, as one of them inevitably would.

Except that when all of them reported back, there was nothing found.

“What do you mean?!” Tom snarled. Everyone winced. “He _is_ here, he has to be!”

Mr Dursley was watching with an odd mixture of alarm and self-satisfaction. “I’m not quite sure who you’re looking for, but they’re certainly not here. If you and your party could excuse us… we’ve had quite enough excitement for one day…”

Tom took a purposeful step towards him, seeing red. Barty hastily put himself between them.

“My Lord, I know it is taxing work, but we _will_ find him. We will search every other house in the country until he returns to your side.”

“We don’t _need_ to search every other house! He’s in this one!” Tom was certain, but for once Barty was showing doubt on his face.

“We’ve searched everywhere…” Barty pleaded. “Nobody has found anything!”

A loud crack interrupted their discussion. Everyone spun to see a house-elf standing in the middle of the dining room. Mr Dursley shouted out in surprise, and Mrs Dursley and Umbridge came rushing in too, followed quickly by the guard Tom had told to watch Umbridge.  

“Are you Dobby?” Tom asked with careful control. The house-elf grinned at him.

“I am Dobby the house-elf, sir. It is an honour.”

It was so silent that one could have heard a pin drop; as it was, Tom could hear _something_ very quiet, but he couldn’t tell what it was.

“You are looking for Harry Potter, sir?” Dobby said.

Mrs Dursley sobbed. Umbridge stepped forward. “Surely you aren’t going to listen to this _creature_?” she said. Tom turned his nose up at her. Two of the guards advanced on her, understanding the gravity of the situation where Umbridge, perhaps, did not.

“We can’t find Harry,” Tom said, as patiently as he could. “Do you know where he is?” There was a slight tremor in his voice, but (wisely) nobody pointed it out.

“Has sir looked in the garden?”

Nobody needed any more prompting as Dobby hopped out of the room, leading them out of the house and into the large garden. Guards had already looked here. Harry was nowhere to be seen, but Dobby wasn’t surprised at all.

“Didn’t there used to be more pumpkins than this?” Mrs Dursley said faintly, but was quickly shushed by someone Tom didn’t care to identify, looking instead to Dobby for further instructions.

Dobby simply pointed back to the house- or rather to another, smaller, almost unnoticeable door that blended in perfectly with the wall. The only way he could actually tell it was a door was that two butterflies had settled on the door handle.

“Keep everyone here,” Tom said to Barty as he passed him, striding to the door. The butterflies fluttered away, and Tom tried the handle. It was locked. Mr Dursley seemed angrily pleased about this, so Tom looked him in the eye and whispered “ _Alohomora,”_ and essentially blasted the door open.

Inside was a spiral staircase that got dirtier the higher up it went. Tom followed it to a small landing. Its ceiling was part of the roof of the house, and there was a single door with a cat flap on it. This door, too, was locked, but the same spell burst it open just as easily as the one below.

Tom stepped cautiously into the musty room. There were old boxes everywhere, and one window that allowed a solitary square of light in.

When Tom’s eyes adjusted to the low lighting, he froze in place as he made out a figure at the other end of the room. He held his breath as the figure moved towards him, pausing before stepping into the light.

His beautiful boy gazed at him with such a pure hope on his face that it made Tom’s chest hurt. However, that wasn’t the only thing Tom noticed about him. His hair was no longer wavy and slick, but messy and unbrushed. His glasses were different, too, round and thin and wrapped up between the eyes from brokenness. These were the most pleasant of the changes Tom noticed.

He observed, with dawning horror, the myriad of cuts that adorned Harry’s face, the black-turned-yellow eye, the also yellow bruise on his jaw, the way his clothes hung off him eerily, and the dizzy way in which he swayed from side to side as he kept himself upright.

Harry offered him a slight smile. “Don’t worry, Tom,” he said. “My hair’s this messy all the time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed this chapter.
> 
> I've reached the point where I have so many things to do before deadlines that I completely shut down and do nothing instead. This is probably the only productive thing I've done this week. So, fingers crossed for this week, and I'll see you next Sunday!


	13. the one everyone's been waiting for

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before they leave Privet Manor, Tom has a bone to pick with the Dursleys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to the most redrafted chapter of this whole story, with each draft having different tones and punishments. I spent far more time on this one than any other, and as a result I'm pretty sure every word on this page is mocking me. 
> 
> Happy reading.

Harry wondered whether this was how Dobby felt when he realised Harry was going to free him, minus the attraction Harry couldn’t quite will away, even at a time like this. Tom looked every bit a handsome prince charming now, even when wearing what looked like soldier’s clothing. His hair was slightly windswept and it only added, in Harry’s very unbiased opinion, to Tom’s overall angelic appearance.

At Harry’s greeting, Tom gave a laugh that was a mixture of pained and relieved. It was all Harry could do to simply stand still as Tom walked carefully over to him and pulled him into a gentle but firm embrace. Harry hugged Tom back with all of his strength, which is to say, not much.

“I missed you,” Tom said when they parted, his voice somewhat strained.

While the odd feeling in Harry’s stomach could have been hunger, Harry was pretty sure in this moment that it was butterflies.

“I can tell you my name now,” Harry said. “Hi. I’m Harry Potter.”

Tom grinned at him. “Hello Harry Potter, I’m Tom Riddle.” Tom didn’t seem to want to completely let go of Harry, which suited Harry just fine because he wasn’t entirely sure he could reliably support his own weight.

The tips of Tom’s fingers brushed against Harry’s face, and it took Harry a few seconds to realise that Tom was inspecting his various injuries. Briefly, so briefly, Harry hated that Tom was seeing him like this: weak, injured, fragile. He didn’t want to be any of these things. But there was no trace of pity on Tom’s face, and it was either this or Harry’s lack of energy that drained his irritation and embarrassment from him.

“Most of these were technically self-inflicted,” he offered.

“Which ones weren’t?” Tom replied. Harry could tell his nonchalance was forced.

He wondered how to best go about explaining. “Umbridge gave me the scars on my hand,” he said. Tom’s expression darkened somewhat.

“The bruises?”

“Dudley.”

“And the cuts?”

“I fell,” Harry said. Tom raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I fell out of a pumpkin.” The eyebrow raised further. “I fell out of a pumpkin hurtling down the road at high speeds,” he amended finally.

“You’re going to tell me this story in great detail,” Tom said, “After I murder your entire family.” Harry laughed.

“Where are they?” he asked.

“In the garden, awaiting judgement,” Tom said darkly. “The faster I take you away from here the better. Assuming,” he added tentatively, “that you want to come.”

“Are you insane?” Harry exclaimed. “Let’s get out of here, I’m starving.”

Whether Tom was aware that Harry probably needed the assistance or not, Harry was grateful that Tom didn’t let him go, supporting him with an arm around Harry’s waist as they descended the spiral stairs.

When they entered the garden, there was a small crowd waiting. Dobby was being held back bodily from Umbridge, who was staring at him with mixed horror and revulsion. “Umbridge will not insult Harry Potter in front of Dobby, no she won't, or Dobby will shut Umbridge's mouth for her!" Dobby cried. Next to Harry, Tom stiffened.

“Arrest Umbridge,” Tom ordered, getting straight to business. “On the grounds of torture.” His soldiers scrambled to comply, ignoring Umbridge’s squawks of protest. Umbridge was dragged away.

Dobby took the opportunity to disapparate with a _crack_ , though Harry got the impression that he would see Dobby again very soon. Meanwhile, a man with straw-coloured hair and freckles was walking towards them.

“Barty meet Harry, Harry meet Barty,” Tom said.

Barty shook Harry’s hand. “It’s good to have found you. Now we can finally go home. Tom’s been _insufferable,_ ” he said with a mischievous smile aimed at Tom. With the hand that wasn’t supporting Harry, Tom swatted at him. Barty winked at Harry as he dodged and stepped back.

“Well, if that’s everything...” Harry said, subtly angling himself so that he was hidden from view of the remaining soldiers and, more importantly, the Dursleys.

Tom had a strange, almost bemused look in his eyes. Barty was wearing a similarly confused expression, looking back and forth between Tom and Harry like there was something he was missing. Harry could relate.

“We’re not quite done,” Tom said quietly, and then Harry understood. The dark quality to his voice, his reaction to Dobby, his- Harry had thought Tom was joking about murdering the Dursleys. Now, he wasn’t quite so sure.

“What left is there?” Harry said, his voice managing to be quieter still than Tom’s. Even he could tell that his ignorance was not well feigned.

Harry held Barty’s gaze for a second- was that pity?- and then Barty turned and left him alone with Tom, moving to speak to the soldiers and making sure that the Dursleys stayed put. Harry’s family. Petunia, standoffish and clutching her son to her. Dudley, white as a sheet, not understanding what was happening. And Vernon, red in the face, wary of the soldiers and of Tom, but casting furtive looks at them behind their backs. As much as Harry hated them, and he really did hate them, he didn’t want them to come to any harm on his behalf. It seemed… wrong somehow.

“It will only take a moment. You can wait in the carriage if you’d like.”

“They’re my family, Tom. Don’t… don’t hurt them.”

“But they hurt you,” Tom pressed, a dangerous edge in his voice not aimed at Harry. In that moment Harry had no doubt that Tom would happily inflict any manner of harm on the Dursleys, and that intent was humbling and terrifying all at once.

“You don’t need to go out of your way- you’re the prince, Tom, it wouldn’t be right for you to make an exception because of me!” Harry said, careful to keep his voice just low enough so only Tom could hear him.

 _“Harry,”_ Tom hissed, switching to parseltongue upon realising Harry’s desire for privacy. _“Regardless of my own feelings towards these people- and they are angry, bloodthirsty feelings, I won’t lie- your aunt and uncle have broken the law. For one, they lied to me and tried to conceal you from me. That’s treason. And then there’s… at best, this is neglect. At worst, chronic maltreatment. Torture. Attempted murder. So you see, if I were to_ not _punish them, I would be making them an exception because of you, which you don’t want.”_

Harry looked to the Dursleys again.

 _“I don’t understand why you want to protect them so badly,”_ Tom continued when Harry didn’t say anything, reaching out and taking Harry’s hand gently in his own, a stark contrast to his frustrated expression. _“Perhaps you fear their retribution? I can’t promise that no-one will ever again raise their hand to harm you, Harry, but I do promise that I will utterly destroy anyone who tries.”_

 _“Starting with them?”_ Harry finally spoke up.

Tom’s surprised smile was not what Harry was expecting. _“You spoke it on your own,”_ Tom explained. _“But I cannot let what they have done to you go unpunished.”_ The smile disappeared, replaced with a glare that Tom directed at the Dursleys.

_“You don’t need to waste your energy on them. I’m not worth it.”_

This time Tom’s fierce glare was directed at Harry. _“And this,_ this _is what they’ve done to you,”_ he hissed. _“The filth over there, they have blinded you to the truth- ‘not worth it’? Don’t be ridiculous!”_

Harry stared up at Tom’s fury, wide-eyed. The loud, harsh sibilants were drawing the attention of everyone in the garden.

 _“Their belittling, their abuse, their worthless opinions have gotten inside your head! What was it you said? ‘You may be above everyone else, but I’m very much below’? Is this what you meant? Yes,”_ Tom added, almost pleadingly, at Harry’s expression. _“You are_ worth _me remembering every word you’ve ever said to me, Harry. Didn’t I tell you that all I want is you? Do I look like someone who would settle for anything less than perfection?”_

Harry was speechless, but as he stared into Tom’s eyes, he thought Tom understood. Tom stepped closer to press a kiss to Harry’s forehead. Harry’s face, which was already rather red, burned. He couldn’t quite hide his deeply flattered grin.

“Because you desire it,” Tom switched back to English, probably for the benefit of the onlookers, “I will not hurt the Dursleys… any more than they have hurt you.”

Tom turned from him to address the Dursleys. He made a small motion with his hand which must have been an indication for the soldiers to leave them, for they did. Only Barty stayed in the garden with them.

Uncle Vernon was attempting valiantly to keep his composure. Harry could tell that he was impressed by Tom, as he was impressed by everyone who was well-to-do, but clearly anyone who was both magic and on Harry’s side was not someone who could get along with him. Harry wondered how far Vernon would have to push him to get a death sentence. It probably wasn’t very far. Harry hoped he wouldn’t do anything to provoke Tom, but knowing Vernon, he was hoping in vain.

“Is there anything you’d like to say to defend yourself before we begin?” Tom said, his voice deceptively calm.

Vernon opened his mouth but Tom made a sharp gesture and Vernon could not speak.

“That was a rhetorical question. Actually, I don’t care what any of you have to say.” Tom paused, twisted to glance at Harry, and then looked back. “Harry could not tell me his name at the ball. While I understand this is Umbridge’s doing, you all knew of this and consented to it. Therefore my first curse on you is this: you will not speak your name aloud to anyone you meet, be they friend or stranger.” Tom raised his hand. A tongue of blue fire, not unlike a snake, materialised and bound each of the Dursleys. It did not burn them, but it certainly scared them, and Harry knew that this was the curse being created.

“This is unlawful!” Vernon growled.

“I make the law,” said Tom.

Barty, who had been silent and unmoving until now, gestured for Harry to come stand next to him. Harry did. From this position he could see Tom’s face too- righteous, vindictive, cold. Was this what Barty wanted? Harry did not see the point, but appreciated any chance to look at Tom’s handsome features all the same.

“You seem a bit shocked at his behaviour,” Barty said under his breath.

Harry shook his head slightly. “I think I’ve been expecting something like this since my friends warned me about it. I just haven’t seen him act this way before.”

“What you have to understand is, he can be both ways. Protective and loyal to his friends, but ruthless and cruel to those he deems deserving of it. You’ve only known him for a short while- this rescue makes it, what, the fourth day you’ve actually been in contact with each other? Not that it’s a bad thing, of course, many a marriage has been built on less. But I suggest you observe him closely now… learn when not to speak up and bring his rage upon yourself. It has been known to happen.”

Something about Barty’s words rubbed Harry the wrong way, and he didn’t reply.  

“Secondly,” Tom had continued, “you have forced Harry to live in frankly appalling conditions despite your spacious home.” Harry suddenly realised that Tom did not know about his usual room under the stairs. But Tom did not need to know that quite yet. “From now on no matter where you go or how large your home is, every room will always be inexplicably too small. A rather tame punishment, I believe, but all in the name of compromise.”

A second tongue of fire bound the Dursleys. Dudley looked like he was about to faint. Harry swallowed, guilt prodding at him.

“Finally,” Tom said softly, allowing himself a slight smile, “the evidence of near starvation is clear on Harry. My third curse is that no matter full you feel, you will always feel hunger, and no amount of food will ever satisfy you.”

Vernon scowled. “The boy-” Tom flinched- “had plenty of food, he was the one making it! He could have had more food if he’d wanted it!”

Tom did not react outwardly to this, however he fixed Vernon with a glare. “That was a lie,” he said coldly. “I dislike it when people lie to me.”

A third tongue of fire joined the others.

“I think that will be all for now-”

“Wait,” Harry said quietly.

“Don’t,” Barty muttered to him under his breath, “not when he’s like this-”

 _“What is it?”_ Tom hissed in parseltongue, tilting his head to look Harry in the eye.

_“Look at Dudley. He’s only my age, he doesn’t deserve that for the rest of his life. Not Dudley. Please.”_

Tom considered him for a moment before returning to the Dursleys.

“One more thing,” he said. Barty looked between Harry and Tom, surprised.

“I am not a damsel in distress,” Harry said softly, not looking at Barty. “I am thankful for you finding me and letting me out of that attic, but this is the way my life has been from the age of one. I have survived. Tom will not turn his rage upon me, not only because he simply wouldn’t, but because if he tried, I would not let him.”  

Harry stopped speaking to hear the rest of Tom’s curse on the Dursleys. “Because Harry has mercy, the curse can break on Dudley- _if_ he redeems himself to my standard through copious self-improvement. When this happens the curse will be lifted and Dudley will be free. But only Dudley.”

The tongues of fire blazed brightly and then seemed to melt away. The curse, apparently, was cast.

Harry looked Barty in the eye then. “I am not a damsel in distress,” he repeated.

“We’re done here,” Tom drawled. “Harry, Barty, come.” The three of them turned to leave, but Vernon made a noise of protest.

“Is there a problem?” Tom said, slowly and deliberately.

Aunt Petunia was pale and rightly scared, but Uncle Vernon was furious. “Problem?! He will _not_ be going!”

“And what are you going to do to stop us?” Tom replied, as if he would have dearly loved for Vernon to try. “You realise I am the Prince, yes? You realise that I could literally murder you right now and nobody would care, yes? And _if_ they did, I could just use magic to erase their memory?”

Vernon paled considerably.

“As it is, the only reason I haven’t done so already is because Harry wills me not to. But know this. If you ever come near me or Harry again, I will _end you_.”

The Dursleys paled considerably, Vernon drawing back and offering no more protest.

In the silence that followed, Harry saw the opportunity for his goodbye. Harry took a step towards Vernon and Petunia, drawing everyone’s attention to him. “Thank you,” he said, “for everything you’ve done for me.” It was as good a farewell as any, made incredibly ironic by the bruises on Harry’s face and his obvious malnourishment. All the same, it was technically due to the Dursleys that he met Tom in the first place, so Harry chose to let everything else go considering he would never have to see the Dursleys again.

Harry could tell Tom was trying to suppress laughter at the Dursleys’ gobsmacked faces as they entered the house again. Harry was the last to reach the door.

“We housed you, fed you and clothed you, Potter,” Vernon said lowly behind him. “What happens when the _prince_ finds out you’re no more useful than a common maid?”

Harry froze unintentionally. Tom saw the movement and turned. The next second, Tom had grabbed Vernon by the front of his shirt and punched him across the face. Somehow (through magical means, most likely) it was strong enough that even Vernon staggered from the force.

Without a word to Vernon, Tom placed the other hand on the small of Harry’s back and accompanied him to the front of the house. “That didn’t count,” Tom said quietly. “He deserved that one.”

Harry didn’t disagree.

As Tom began to help him into his carriage, Harry almost hit himself in the face at his own stupidity. “Sorry- wait a second-”

Tom followed him back into the house, staring at him oddly as he opened the door to the cupboard under the stairs. “My stuff,” he explained sheepishly, pulling his belongings out from underneath his bed, including his few clothes, the royal invitation addressed to him from weeks ago, and the single sock Tom had given to him on the second night. Harry fought the blush that threatened when he took that last one under Tom’s observant eye.

“Don’t tell me you _live_ in that box,” Tom said.

“Okay,” said Harry easily, trailing Tom behind him out of the house.

“Are you _sure_ I can’t maim them? Send them to Azkaban with the dementors?”

“I’m very sure,” Harry confirmed. “Was the punch not satisfying enough?”

“The punch was very satisfying,” Tom said. “Not even close to what I wanted to do to them, but… alright. What about Umbridge?”

“I don’t care what happens to Umbridge,” Harry said, though he knew- and rather hoped- that Tom would not make her life fun. Indeed, Tom was suddenly far more cheerful.

“In that case, Bella and I are going to have lots of fun with her...”

Finally, Tom guided him up from the ground and into the carriage. With any luck, this would be the last time Harry set foot on this ground. It was a good thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Tom and Harry refused to work with me on this one. I hope that the punishments are to your liking, and if they aren't, I hope you understand why. Have a fantastic week and I'll see you all with the last chapter on Christmas Day!


	14. kissy kissy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Tom are alone again. They prefer it this way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays! Sorry I'm a tad late, I did try to race against the clock but I've only had my laptop for half an hour today and that's since 23:30, and while I _could_ post it with a minute spare I wanted to dedicate some time to the end notes so I hope you'll forgive me. :)

Everything had changed. 

He lived with Tom now. Although he had been given his own room next door, neither he nor Tom intended for him to use it. 

He had new clothes now which actually felt good on his skin, and while he was still skinnier than he probably should be, Tom assured him that that would change soon. 

The night was completely clear, and the garden was as Harry remembered it on the first night. Harry and Tom talked long past midnight on the bench underneath the willow tree, and Harry told Tom his story, the truth, from beginning to end. 

“Good story. Compelling protagonist, and I especially like the ending,” Tom said when he had finished. “There’s something I have a problem with, though.”

“What’s that?” Harry asked. 

“Before you left on the third night… we were in the middle of something.” 

It was different now, Harry thought as they faced each other. The truth was out, now, and Tom still wanted him. There was no time limit, no fear in the back of Harry’s mind. There was only Harry and Tom and the warm, pleasant desire _ for _ Tom residing in Harry’s own chest that may have been love. 

In the end it was Harry who kissed Tom first, though of course Tom took control almost immediately. 

It was everything. 

Tom was everything.

Harry had never felt so wanted before, and it left in him a deep heat only magnified by the softness of Tom’s lips on his own. Tom kissed him tenderly, as if he was breakable, but Harry surged forward to prove him wrong. It was exactly what Tom wanted; he lifted a hand and tugged at Harry’s hair, sending scorching thrills through Harry’s insides and coercing from him a soft, helpless moan. At a questioning swipe of eager, wet tongue, Harry opened his mouth and let Tom deeper in. 

Tom practically growled. He pushed Harry down onto the bench- softer now than before, probably because of magic- and in the soft light of the lanterns Harry could make out a deep hunger on Tom’s face that might have made him nervous if he didn’t believe wholeheartedly that Tom would never, ever hurt him. 

There was no resistance. Harry had been wanting this, whether he knew it or not, from the moment they’d met, and it showed to both Harry and Tom in the way Harry surrendered completely to Tom’s desires. Tom left him light-headed, and when he pulled away for breath Harry was panting but grinning all the same. Harry stared up at Tom, framed by the black sky, and was struck by his ethereal beauty.

“You are gorgeous,” Harry breathed, and the smile that lit up Tom’s face only made him more so. 

Tom leaned down to trail kisses down Harry’s jaw, his neck, and then back up to his swollen lips. Harry’s hand was fisted in the front of Tom’s shirt, and he let go in favour of letting Tom come ever closer.

“And  _ you _ ,” Tom whispered, bringing his hand up to caress Harry’s face. “You are free.” 

Harry smiled and propped himself up in order to capture Tom’s lips in another chaste kiss. 

“I spoke to my father,” Tom said casually, but Harry could see he was observing Harry’s every move. “While there were supposed to be strict… conditions… on the type of person I could choose, I convinced him that you fit.”

“What were the conditions?” 

“You had to be magic. And you had to be of a high social standing.”

Harry snorted. “And I fit that how?” 

“I said that you had created an impression on the three nights, one that the people wouldn’t forget easily. It would be easy to fabricate the idea that you have always been wealthy in those to whom it matters.”

Harry got the distinct impression that Tom didn’t like those people. He nudged Tom playfully, aiming for a joking tone. “And to the others that know, you would be a knight in shining armour, rescuing the poor unfortunate soul from his tormentors.” 

“But I didn’t save you from them because I felt  _ sorry  _ for you,” Tom said, disgruntled. “I did it because- I love you.”

Harry bit his lip and grinned, the words sending pleasant chills through him. “Well, for the record, I didn’t only come with you to be set free from the Dursleys. I love you too.” 

Tom beamed, and Harry’s heart melted. Tom laid his head down on Harry’s chest. 

“On the subject of the Dursleys, I thought you might want to know that Lucius Malfoy has been sentenced to a year in azkaban. I might have made the sentence longer, but I figured I could have more fun with him myself,” Tom mused. 

“I don’t know him, I don’t really care what happens to him now. Don’t be, er,  _ too  _ cruel, yeah?” 

Tom made a noncommittal noise, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence. 

Harry brought his hand up to trace idle patterns onto Tom’s side. Once or twice he heard Tom trying to stifle laughter, but he pretended not to notice. 

“Does this mean we’re… lovers?” Harry said after a while.

“Darling, we’d be husbands if I thought we could get away with it so quickly.” Tom mumbled into Harry’s shirt. 

“Why can’t we get away with it?” asked Harry, feeling as though he was missing something. 

“It has to be planned out by everyone in the palace except us, of course. It’ll be very public I expect.” Tom shuddered. “We’ll have to  _ socialise _ . But for now… for now you are my  _ inamorato _ .” 

“I’m going to pretend I know what that means,” Harry said. 

Tom sat up, placing his arms either side of Harry’s head and fixing him with an intense gaze that sent a scorching heat through his body. “It means I’m going to kiss you now, and I may not stop until the sun rises.” 

Harry was certainly okay with that.

In fact, Harry was very much more than okay. 

After all, he was free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, as I've already said, happy holidays! I hope everyone has had a great day or multiple days or whatever period of time you celebrate in. If you gave/received gifts, what's your favourite that you've given/received? 
> 
> It's really bittersweet, posting this last chapter. I'm so grateful for everyone who's stuck with the story since the beginning, and to those who have joined us along the way. I'm honestly blown away with the positive response this has gotten- I expected maybe one comment for the whole thing, but everyone's been spectacular and it's been a really fantastic few months. I've looked forward to Sundays for thirteen weeks because everyone's so lovely and supportive, and it's gotten me through some weeks that otherwise would have wrecked me. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos, left a bookmark, left a comment, left _multiple_ comments (familiar names and pictures + long comments really make my days)! Is this getting too long? I think it's getting too long. Whoops.
> 
> Finally, of course, thanks for reading! I really hope you enjoyed! I'll see you all when I see you! :)


End file.
